0. 


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THE 

LITERARY  MOVEMENT 
IN  FRANCE 

DURING  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 


BY 

Georges  Pellissier 


AUTHORIZED  ENGLISH  VERSION 

BY 

ANNE   GARRISON    BRINTON 

WITH   GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  WEST  TWENTY -THIRD  STREET  24  BEDFORD  STREET,  STRAND 

®^t  llnitkcrbocktr  ^rcss 
1897  I 


Copyright,  iSg? 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


"Cbc  icntckecbocker  press,  Dew  £ccit 


INTRODUCTION. 

"  M.  Georges  Pellissier's  Mouvement  litteraire  au 
XIX.  Steele  is  no  less  the  picture,  than  the  history 
of  contemporary  French  literature.  In  addition,  it 
is  also  the  philosophy,  or  rather  describes  the  evo- 
lution of  the  literary  movement  of  our  century."^ 
With  these  words  the  most  prominent  of  French 
critics  ofreeted  this  work,  now  for  the  first  time 
offered  to  the  American  and  English  public. 
From  him  they  were  significant,  almost  prophetic, 
for  of  all  others,  M.  Brunetiere  has  most  decried 
the  drifts  of  modern  talent  in  favor  of  the  virtues 
of  Classic  art.  In  a  recent  review,  M.  Faguet,  the 
author  of  a  series  of  keenly  salient  literary  por- 
traits, ranks  among  modern  classics  this  work,  still 
the  best  history  of  one  of  the  most  fertile  of 
modern  literatures. 

In  its  great  lines  M.  Pellissier  draws  the  picture 
of  the  contemporary  literary  movement  in  France. 
Divining  the  spirit  of  its  swiftly  succeeding  phases 
of  thought,  he  endows  each  with  its  peculiar  life. 
Relating  its  various  counter-currents  to  the  con- 
stant progress  of  ideas,  he  gives  his  work  the  vivid 
charm  and  unbroken  interest  of  a  panoramic  pic- 
ture. He  treats  the  products  of  literary  art  as 
documents  upon  aesthetic  development.  In  this 
sense   his  work  is  a  history.      He  grasps  what  is 

'  Brunetiere,  Notivelles  questions  de  critique. 


iv  l7iti'oditctio7i. 

general  in  thought  revolutions  without  omitting 
what  is  particular  in  reactions  or  individual  in 
talents.  In  this  respect  it  is  a  philosophy.  From 
their  origin  he  traces  the  causes  of  the  triumph 
and  decline  of  adverse  theories,  thus  outlining  the 
evolution  of  contemporary  French  literature.  It  is 
indeed  no  mean  service  to  the  cause  of  letters  to 
have  thrown  light  upon  the  great  human  questions 
involved  in  this  subject. 

Althouofh  considered  in  its  aesthetic  and  historic 
character,  M.  Pellissier  does  not  overlook  the  moral 
import  of  literary  production.  However,  this  is 
evident  from  his  manner  of  presenting  things 
rather  than  from  direct  observation.  Analyzing 
their  nature,  he  follows  the  consequences  of  the 
exaggeration  of  certain  thought  elements  which 
tend  to  exclude  complete  truth.  As  he  leaves  no 
doubt  in  our  minds  in  regard  to  the  relative  merit 
of  writers,  so  he  leads  us  naturally  to  the  ideal 
solution  of  aesthetic  problems.  This  solution  con- 
sists in  uniting  the  truths  successively  placed  in 
evidence  only  soon  to  be  displaced,  by  that  rapid 
transformation  of  thought  which  has  made  our  cen- 
tury one  of  the  greatest  in  history.  These  adverse 
phases,  each  of  which  seems  to  him  a  step  in  pro- 
gress, M.  Pellissier  has  pictured  in  an  impartial 
spirit. 

First,  we  have  Classicism  with  its  relentless  sup- 
pression of  the  ego  and  inherent  Optimism  ;  indif- 
ferent to  the  real  in  respect  to  details  and  often 
limited  in  its  conception  of  the  ideal  ;  no  less  ser- 
vile  in   the   observance  of  rules  than    formal   and 


Introduction.  v 

superficial  in  its  Catholicism.  Then,  we  have 
Romanticism  with  its  ascendant  ego  and  incurable 
melancholy  ;  more  general  in  its  admittance  of  the 
details  of  reality  and  always  universal  in  its  concep- 
tion of  the  ideal ;  liberal  in  the  application  of 
formulas  as  well  as  spiritual  and  sentimental  in  its 
Christianity.  Finally,  we  have  Realism  with  its 
triumphant  ego  and  enervating  Pessimism  ;  as  exclu- 
sive in  its  acceptance  of  the  real  as  it  is  arrogant 
in  its  suppression  of  the  ideal  ;  no  less  scrupulous 
in  its  superstition  for  form  than  absolute  and  de- 
cadent in  its  negation  of  truths  which  do  not  admit 
of  empirical  verification. 

Here,  as  M.  Pellissier  shows.  Classicism  is  inspired 
by  Greco-Latin  antiquity  ;  Romanticism  turns  to 
mediaeval  art ;  Realism  confines  itself  to  the  data  of 
the  present.  Classicism,  aiming  at  general  truth, 
expresses  the  philosophical  spirit ;  Romanticism, 
pursuing  interior  truth,  is  pervaded  by  artistic  and 
religious  sentiment ;  Realism,  seeking  only  exterior 
truth,  is  the  essence  of  the  scientific  spirit. 

Humanity  only  was  admitted  by  ancient  and 
Classic  art.  The  nineteenth  century,  however,  has 
given  nature  full  aesthetic  expression,  first  in  a  more 
subjective,  later  in  a  more  objective  form.  Indeed, 
the  constant  advance  of  nature  in  modern  art  is  one 
of  the  chief  epoch  marks  of  our  century.  Generally 
speaking,  with  Classicism  it  is  the  triumph  of  art 
over  nature  ;  Romanticism  aims  to  conciliate  art 
and  nature ;  with  Realism  it  is  the  triumph  of 
nature  over  art.  There  is  no  purely  objective  art. 
Artistic  production  implies  both  man  and  nature, 


vi  Introductio7i. 

both  the  subjective  and  the  objective.  Either  in 
reducing  nature  or  in  rejecting  man  art  becomes 
empty  formaHsm.  Hence,  it  is  evident  that  Real- 
ism has  never  consistently  applied  its  precepts. 

Synthesis  is  the  method  of  Idealism  ;  analysis  is 
the  method  of  Realism  as  defined  by  its  exponents. 
But  synthesis  rather  than  analysis  is  the  method 
of  art ;  while  analysis  rather  than  synthesis  is  the 
method  of  science.  Nevertheless,  Realism,  con- 
sidered apart  from  scholastic  exaggerations,  is  as 
necessary  to  art  as  is  Idealism  to  science.  At  no 
time  can  Romanticism  be  said  to  have  proceeded 
solely  by  synthesis  ;  in  no  instance  has  Realism  ex- 
clusively applied  the  analytical  method.  In  M. 
Pellissier's  words  :  "  With  the  latter  half  of  the 
century  we  set  out  to  combat  abstraction,  and 
we  proscribed  all  beauty  in  things  and  all  virtue  in 
souls.  We  but  broke  away  from  the  idealization 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  good  to  substitute  the 
idealization  of  the  ugly  and  the  evil."  ^ 

Subduing  the  real  and  suppressing  the  ego,  the 
Classicists  were  unconscious  Optimists ;  either  in 
limiting  the  real  or  in  expelling  the  ideal  the 
Romanticists  and  the  Realists  came  to  profess 
Pessimism.  The  ego  of  the  great  Romantic  poets 
who  turned  within  to  find  nature  and  humanity  re- 
flected in  their  hearts,  is  not  odious  like  the  ego  of 
Realism,  which  insensibly  seeks  itself  without,  and 
into  which  no  ideal  conception  of  man  or  life  enters. 
First  it  was  the  Pessimism  of  an  exalted  Idealism  ; 
later  it  became  the  Pessimism  of  a  deformed  Real- 

'  Pellissier,  Essais  de  litterature  contcniporaine. 


Introduction.  vii 

ism.  The  melancholy  of  Romanticism  was  the 
mournful  lament  of  valiant  hearts  ;  the  dejection  of 
Realism  became  the  dismal  burden  of  recreant 
souls.  But  are  not  subjectivity  and  Pessimism  pe- 
culiarly characteristic  of  the  nineteenth  century  ? 
Doubtless  we  have  not  far  to  look  for  their  causes. 

With  the  progress  of  the  century  art  broadens 
and  religion  deepens  until,  through  the  influence  of 
the  scientific  spirit,  art  is  finally  lost  in  nature  and 
religion  is  reduced  to  a  document.  This  can  but 
prove  that  art  and  religion  both  express  truths  in- 
dependent of  science.  During  the  first  half  of  the 
century  science  was  invaded  by  religion  ;  with  its 
latter  half  religion  was  invaded  by  science.  After 
divinity  was  idealized  in  all  manifestations  of  force 
and  life,  reality  was  exalted  to  the  height  of  deity. 
Ours  has  been  a  century  of  experiments,  an  ever- 
expanding  eft'ort  towards  truth.  Having  begun  in 
an  effervescence  of  activity,  it  has  seemed  about  to 
close  in  a  paroxysm  of  moral  enervation.  But  the 
ideal  is  inherent  in  all  that  relates  to  humanity. 
From  the  embers  of  the  waning  century  those  who 
have  not  lost  this  militant  faith  seek  to  fan  a  purer 
flame,  to  light  up  its  monuments  with  a  farther- 
reaching  light. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  one  phase  of  thought  is 
passing  away  and  that  another  is  about  to  take  its 
place.  In  this  most  contemporary  writers  agree. 
Since  we  cannot  foresee  its  culmination,  it  matters 
little  whether  this  reaction  be  called  new  Idealism 
or  new  Realism.  However,  it  can  be  stated  with 
some  degree  of  surety  that  the  ideal  will  be  given 


viii  Introduction. 

fuller  scope.  All  revolution  begins  in  philosophy. 
We  must  then  look  to  a  new  philosophy  for  the 
signs  of  the  future.  From  the  first  M.  Pellissier 
has  been  in  sympathy  with  this  new  movement 
which  foreshadows  a  deeper  conception  of  life  and 
discovers  its  origin  in  a  broader  philosophy. 

Few  have  so  clearly  understood  the  phases 
through  which  our  century  has  passed  ;  few  have 
so  aptly  outlined  the  history  of  the  rise  and  fall  of 
its  two  great  literary  paradoxes.  "  Romanticism 
and  Realism,  more  properly  called  Naturalism, 
both  in  turn  expressed  two  fundamental  tendencies 
of  the  human  soul ;  the  first  its  need  for  ideal  as- 
pirations, the  second  its  taste  for  concrete  reali- 
ties. Romanticism  and  Naturalism  are  now  dead ; 
the  one  consumed  by  its  fervid  ardor,  the  other 
sterilized  by  its  arid  method ;  the  one  for  having 
substituted  sentimental  rhetoric  for  human  reality, 
the  other  for  having  reduced  reality  to  what  is 
most  stupid,  vulgar,  and  abject."  ^ 

No  historian  has  more  justly  explained  the  causes 
of  the  decline  of  these  two  adverse  theories  :  "  The 
exaggerations  into  which  Romanticism  and  Natu- 
ralism deteriorated  must  be  attributed  to  schools 
rather  than  to  principles,  for  Idealism  and  Realism 
will  always  remain  the  two  essential  principles  of 
art.  That  the  two  schools  have  been  exhausted 
by  their  excesses  but  proves  the  fact  that  these 
principles  cannot  be  divorced  without  resulting  in 
extravagance  and  absurdity  on  the  one  hand,  and 
insignificance  and  vulgarity  on  the  other."  '^'     Not 

'  Pellissier,  I^ssais  de  Utt^rature  contcmporaine.  *  Ibid. 


InirodMction.  ix 

confining  himself  to  what  may  be  better  compre- 
hended when  time  lends  more  impartial  judgment, 
he  seeks  to  detach  from  past  experience  w^hat  may 
be  a  permanent  gain  to  the  future.  No  critic  of 
the  times  has  more  truly  pointed  out  the  direction 
towards  which  minds  are  already  turning.  "  What 
remains  to  us  if  not  to  conciliate  the  ideal  with  the 
real,  either  by  bringing  the  ideal  within  the  sphere 
of  reality,  or  by  introducing  into  ideality  what  is 
fundamentally  real  ?  Since  when  separated,  the 
ideal  and  the  real  must  end  either  in  the  exclusion 
of  human  truth  or  in  the  negation  of  all  art,  when 
completed  by  each  other  rather  than  opposed,  there 
will  be  no  necessity  to  react  against  extremes."^ 

How  few  writers  of  the  day  have  entered  so 
deeply  into  the  nature  of  artistic  methods,  their 
origin  and  moral  import !  "  Not  only  do  Idealism 
and  Realism  correspond  to  particular  conceptions 
of  art,  limited  in  each  case ;  they  also  disclose  the 
physical  and  moral  idiosyncrasies  which  these  dif- 
ferences of  aesthetics  indicate.  There  will  always 
be  two  families  of  minds,  the  one  drawn  towards 
what  is  beautiful  and  noble  in  the  world,  the  other 
towards  its  miseries  and  horrors.  "  Why,"  he 
questions,  "  may  not  one  of  these  two  conceptions 
prevail  without  attempting  to  exclude  the  other  ? 
If  there  is  no  truly  human,  no  truly  complete  art, 
surely  its  highest  aim  is  not  to  distort  and  deform 
life  by  submitting  it  to  formulas  which  express  but 
a  part  of  the  truth  ! "  ^ 

It  is  for  others  to  picture,  deplore,  or  combat  ex- 

^  Pellissier,  Essais  de  litte'rature  conteinporaiiie.  ^  Ibid. 


X  Introduction. 

isting  conditions.  No  less  reactionary  than  those 
who  more  or  less  consciously  feel  the  need  of  a 
renovation,  M.  Pellissier  is  so  in  that  his  effort  is 
reconstructive.  He  would  have  the  art  of  the 
future  founded  upon  a  firmer  basis  ;  he  would 
have  it  express  life  in  its  complexity  and  continu- 
ity. Suggesting  what  is  ever  true  in  all  theories 
of  art,  he  shows  in  their  interdependence  the 
fundamental  principles  underlying  all  artistic  pro- 
-duction.  He  knows  that  schools  should  be  the  ex- 
pression of  art  phases,  always  natural  rather  than 
artificial.  Notwithstanding  their  violences,  he 
values  the  products  of  Romantic  Idealism  and 
scientific  Realism.  Both  are  loyal,  though  fitful 
and  faulty  efforts  towards  truth.  He  also  recog- 
nizes what  many  have  overlooked, — that,  since  our 
century  has  passed  so  rapidly  from  great  extremes 
of  thought,  this  must  leave  its  imprint  upon  cur- 
rent thought-life.  The  effects  of  these  extremes 
have  been  so  violently  condemned  only  by  those 
who,  failing  to  consider  them  as  reactions,  have 
very  slightly  understood  their  causes. 

In  the  pessimistic,  individualistic  philosophies, 
the  expression  of  current  thought,  many  have  dis- 
covered the  sio^ns  of  decadence.  Believinor  them 
the  inevitable  effects  of  exaggerations,  M.  Pellissier 
holds  that  present  anarchy  may  mean  no  more  than 
the  advent  of  a  new  era.  At  least,  decadence  is 
nowhere  more  apparent  than  in  its  adherents.  In 
opposition  to  the  theory  that  artistic  creation  is 
inconsistent  with  health  of  body  and  mind,  there 
exists  another  which  maintains  that  physical  and 


Introduction.  xi 

mental  tares  are  In  no  sense  the  necessary  condi- 
tion of  genius,  to  which  they  are  secondary  and 
accessory.  Always  more  evident  in  the  artist 
creator,  they  are  accidental  in  all  cases.  Has  art 
become  the  product  of  laborious  effort  ?  We  have 
sought  to  apply  to  it  the  method  of  science.  We 
have  sought  to  efface  the  ideal,  the  sole  condition 
of  aesthetic  and  moral  progress.  Do  we  believe 
ours  an  effete  age  ?  We  have  but  expelled  the 
ideal  in  our  pursuit  of  tangible  truth.  Scorning 
all  but  the  truths  of  evidence,  we  have  ignored  the 
reality  of  the  ideal. 

Although  M.  Pellissier  was  one  of  the  first  to 
predict  and  observe  the  renaissance  of  Idealism,  he 
has  not  been  alone  in  the  van  of  thoupfht.  Other 
French  critics  have  noted  the  same  drift  in  the 
thought  of  the  times.  In  the  full  triumph  of  sub- 
jective criticism,  one  undaunted  belligerent  long 
upheld  alone  the  traditions  of  Classic  art.  What 
wonder  that  he  should  be  so  ready  to  welcome  the 
dawn  of  an  era  in  which  the  ideal  will  find  fuller 
acceptance.  M.  Brunetiere  says  :  "  As  we  passed 
from  Romanticism  into  Naturalism  during  the  first 
half  of  the  century,  so  with  its  latter  half  are  we 
passing  from  Naturalism  into  Idealism,  and  its 
evolution  being  slower,  we  may  believe  that  its 
effects  will  be  more  durable."  ^  Proceeding  to  ad- 
vocate the  new  impulse  everywhere  more  evident, 
he  says  :  "  Now  is  the  time  to  be  Idealists  in  the 
interest  of  literature  and  art,  both  of  which  would 
degenerate  into  mere  trades  were  their  object  other 

'  Brunetiere,  la  Renaissance  de  I'idt'alisme. 


xii  Introduction. 

than  to  penetrate  deeper  into  the  knowledge  of 
nature  and  humanity.  Now  is  the  time  to  be 
Ideahsts  in  the  interest  of  truth  and  science,  either 
of  which  would  make  but  meagre  progress,  if  di- 
rected solely  to  the  perfecting  of  material  life."^ 
Like  M,  Pellissier,  this  modern  Classicist  also  be- 
lieves Idealism  and  Realism  tendencies  to  be 
checked  or  encouraged  by  turns.  Both  present 
dangers.  Art  must  not  be  allowed  to  have  no 
other  object  than  itself ;  science  must  not  become 
the  sole  arbiter  of  life. 

In  the  character  of  his  mind  M.  Brunetiere 
represents  what  is  most  logical  in  reason.  Let  us 
define  Idealism  and  Realism  according  to  him. 
Those  are  not  true  Idealists  who  aim  to  sup- 
press the  ugly  and  the  evil,  any  more  than  are 
those  true  Realists  who  would  ig-nore  the  beautiful 
and  the  good.  Both  represent  a  mental  bias,  a 
leaning  towards  one  or  the  other  aspect  of  life. 
But  Idealism  aims  to  express  through  the  means 
offered  by  nature,  something  ulterior  to  it  and  in- 
herent in  the  artist,  while  Realism  proposes  to  con- 
fine itself  to  its  more  exact  transcription,  finding  it 
sufficiently  extended  to  furnish  material  for  the 
artist.  Idealism  is  the  subordination  of  nature  to 
a  particular  conception,  in  which  the  artist's  soul 
finds  voice  more  directly  than  by  Realism  which 
attempts  to  eliminate  as  far  as  possible  all  personal 
expansion,  if  not  preferences.  Thus,  Idealism  and 
Realism,  besides  indicating  in  either  case  the  as- 
cendancy   of   one  over   the    other   aspect    of    life, 

'  Brunetiere,  la  Renaissance  de  Vid^alisme. 


Introdtidion,  xiii 

disclose  at  the  same  time  a  greater  or  a  lesser  need 
for  individual  expression.  No  work  of  art  is  either 
purely  Idealistic  or  purely  Realistic  in  conception. 
Like  all  others,  these  terms  are  relative,  and  infi- 
nite are  the  degrees  of  their  association.  In  form- 
ing schools  of  art,  artists  have  made  the  methods 
of  art  their  object,  for  all  schools  of  art,  as  M. 
Brunetiere  justly  remarks,  arise  from  a  difference 
of  opinion  in  regard  to  the  degree  of  imitation  of 
nature.^ 

The  historians  of  Classic  and  Modern  literary  art 
have  both  considered  literature  in  its  moral  charac- 
ter. Both  have  arrived  at  the  same  conclusions.  For 
them  art's  first  object  is  to  realize  beauty,  and  the 
warrant  of  beauty  is  the  aesthetic  emotion  aroused. 
Art  and  literature  are,  in  fact,  but  the  symbols  of 
that  emotion.  According  to  M.  Ricardou,  "  this  is 
the  theoretic  truth  upon  which  Symbolism  has 
founded  its  conception  of  art."  ^  Exalting  the  sym- 
bol, which  transfers  emotion  in  a  condensed  form, 
it  aims  to  suggest  rather  than  to  express.  Sym- 
bolism, apart  from  exaggerations  and  obscurities, 
points  towards  the  renaissance  of  Idealism  and 
poetic  sentiment.  If  morality  may  not  be  the  ob- 
ject, but  the  condition,  of  art,  moral  emotion  cer- 
tainly increases  the  aesthetic  value  of  a  work  of  art. 
Indeed  no  more  is  morality  than  reality  the  object 
but  the  condition  of  art.  With  the  ideal,  the  source 
of  activity,  is  associated  in  greatest  measure  moral 
as  well  as  aesthetic  emotion,  without  which  no  social 
progress  is  possible. 

'  Brunetiere,  Nouvelles  questions  de  critique. 

^  Ricardou,  la  Critique  litt&aire,  Etude philosophique. 


xvi  Introduction. 

Pessimism.  As  the  germ  of  the  ideal  is  found  in 
Optimism,  so  Pessimism,  inspiring  pity,  may  suggest 
altruism.  "  The  persistent  tendency  towards  Pes- 
simism, the  exclusive  preference  for  a  sombre  form 
of  art,  which  prevails  during  certain  epochs  of  his- 
tory, and  particularly  in  our  own,  should  not  be 
considered  as  an  infirmity  of  art,  but  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  of  the  epoch  which  cannot  produce 
otherwise,"^  writes  M.  Ribot.  Nevertheless,  in  a 
certain  sense  Pessimism  no  less  than  Optimism 
represents  a  principle  of  activity,  and  only  when  dis- 
sociated and  exaggerated  do  they  alike  result  in 
the  annihilation  of  all  volition.  When  no  longer 
placed  in  opposition,  we  cannot  overlook  what  is 
radically  consistent  in  both  conceptions  of  life. 
"  Pessimism,  in  itself  an  error,  entails  good  as  well 
as  bad  results.  As  evil  serves  the  cause  of  good, 
so  good  overcomes  the  effects  of  evil.  Pessimism 
opposes  Optimism,  excess  opposes  excess.  Thus 
are  forces  balanced,  so  that  nothing,  neither  good 
nor  evil,  may  be  constant  and  stable,  so  that  noth- 
ing may  have  a  definitive  triumph,  a  supremacy 
detrimental  to  the  final  profit.  .  .  .  Let  Pessim- 
ism accomplish  its  mission," '^  concludes  M.  Jouvin. 
During  an  earlier  period  the  theories  of  a  great 
scientist  were  extended  beyond  their  proper  do- 
main. A  natural  law  was  forced  into  the  sphere 
of  a  moral  law,  and  problems  beyond  its  scope 
were  solved  by  being  ignored.  Such  a  conception 
of  life  was  demoralisincr.     This  law  of  the  natural 

'  Ribot,  Psyckologie  des  sentiments. 
^  Jouvin,  le  Pessimisine. 


Introduction.  xvii 

world  a  recent  French  writer  would  complete  with 
the  true  law  of  moral  evolution,  an  association  of 
interests  in  view  of  the  good  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber, which  he  calls  "  I'entente  pour  la  vie."  ^  The 
theory  of  evolution  as  now  understood  and  univer- 
sally applied  supposes  another.  From  the  conflict 
of  clashing  theories  which  has  made  our  century 
seem  the  most  paradoxical  in  history,  there  ap- 
pears a  principle  which  proposes  the  conciliation 
of  forces  supposed  hostile.  The  farther  theories 
apparently  adverse  are  pushed,  the  nearer  do  they 
seem  to  converge.  Spiritualism  has  ceased  to 
satisfy  minds ;  Positivism  has  proved  itself  insuffi- 
cient. "  But,"  says  M.  Fouillee,  "  the  subjective 
synthesis  pursued  by  Idealism,  and  the  objective 
synthesis  pursued  by  Positivism,  seem  about  to 
unite  in  a  universal  synthesis.  .  .  .  Philoso- 
phies are  passing  away,"  he  continues,  "  neverthe- 
less philosophy  remains."  The  truth  now  pursued 
is  not  less  absolute,  but  more  complex.  Instead 
of  truths  vowed  to  endless  variance,  we  have  in 
view  that  ideal  line  where  truth  meets  truth. 

Belief  in  decadence  does  not  seem  possible  in 
face  of  the  growing  activity  in  philosophy.  That 
minds  are  turning  towards  the  future  rather  than 
to  the  past  seems  significant  of  renovation.  The 
historical  researches  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  cen- 
tury are  being  followed  by  theoretical  inquiries  ; 
aesthetic  questions  now  occupy  a  prominent  place 
in  contemporary  thought.  In  both  philosophy  and 
aesthetics   there   is    an  evident  effort   to    embrace 

'  Funck-Brentano,  r Homme  et  sa  destinc'e. 


xviii  Introduction. 

greater  variety  and  greater  particularity.  That 
abstraction  by  which  they  were  formerly  character- 
ized seems  to  be  giving  way  to  a  unity  of  concep- 
tion in  which  all  theories  blend,  and  in  which  alone 
can  the  mind  find  rest.  We  grasp  unsuspected 
relations ;  art  completes  art,  philosophy  meets 
philosophy. 

At  the  outset  of  the  century,  thought  was  still 
absorbed  in  the  study  of  mind  ;  with  its  latter  half 
the  study  of  sentiments  and  passions  has  been  ad- 
mitted. This  has  left  its  imprint  upon  the  literature 
of  the  first  and  the  latter  half  of  the  century.  We 
know  to  what  degree  the  heroes  of  Romanticism 
were  colored  by  the  spirit  of  the  age.  No  less  in 
touch  with  its  atmosphere  were  the  heroes  of  Nat- 
uralism. Well,  like  happy,  people,  seem  to  have  no 
history, — art  so  often  seeks  accent.  Not  finding  in 
normal  physiological  conditions  what  would  lend 
itself  to  the  demands  of  art,  literature  gave  a  ready 
welcome  to  their  more  pathological  forms.  There- 
fore, to  natural  and  transient  causes,  rather  than  to 
decadence,  may  be  attributed  that  exclusive  idealiza- 
tion of  the  ugly  and  the  evil,  so  justly  considered 
untrue  to  life.  As  Naturalism  admits  no  distinc- 
tion between  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly,  so  Positiv- 
ism recognizes  no  difference  between  the  good  and 
the  bad.  Why  look  further  than  this  philosophy 
for  what  is  peculiar  to  time  in  these  degenerate 
forms  of  life  ?  That  they  should  find  their  way 
into  art  at  a  time  when  minds  are  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  sentiments  and  passions  is  to  be  expected  ; 
that  they  should  be  given  so  high  a  place  by  an  art 


Introduction.  xix 

that  expels  the  ideal  and  closes  its  temple  to  no 
material  truth  is  no  less  natural.  Since  science  has 
definitely  come  into  possession  of  its  true  methods, 
it  remains  for  art  to  profit  by  recent  experiments. 
It  seems  now  no  more  possible  for  Idealists  to  lack 
the  sense  of  reality  than  for  Realists  to  sacrifice 
the  sense  of  ideality. 

Our  age  has  been  called  the  most  subjective,  the 
most  individualistic,  that  has  ever  existed.  This 
movement,  seeming  to  presage  the  victory  of  the 
individual,  has  been  condemned  as  subversive  of 
all  morality.  May  it  not  rather  be  charged  to  the 
more  complex  character  of  our  civilization  ?  Aside 
from  certain  evil  effects,  it  might  be  thought  to 
announce  very  different  results.  In  the  opinion  of 
M.  Fouillee,  "■  the  more  complex  becomes  subjec- 
tivity, the  more  extended  becomes  objectivity," 
exterior  relations  being  increased  only  in  accord- 
ance with  interior  complexity.  It  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned that  neither  Romanticism  nor  Naturalism 
maintained  a  just  mean  between  subjectivity  and 
objectivity.  Moreover,  subjectivity  was  introduced 
by  Christianity,  and  though  we  may  doubt  its  dog- 
mas, we  cannot  free  ourselves  from  its  legacy. 

This  subjectivity  has  not  only  been  paramount 
in  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century ;  it  has 
also  left  its  mark  upon  the  evolution  of  literary 
styles.  Those  forms  best  adapted  to  the  rendering 
of  personal  sentiments  have  been  employed.  Al- 
though Romanticism  found  its  highest  effusion  in 
lyrical  poetry,  it  brought  into  favor  the  novel  con- 
sidered as  a  work  of  subjective  literary  art.     With 


XX  Introduction. 

Realism  the  novel  became  the  most  fertile  of  styles, 
being  also  adapted  to  the  analysis  of  character  and 
the  portrayal  of  miiie^ix.  However,  for  the  lack 
of  the  ideal.  Naturalism,  though  a  reaction  against 
Romanticism,  was  unable  to  cast  off  the  ego  brought 
into  vogue  by  it.  Romantic  Idealism  found  the 
world  mirrored  within  ;  Realistic  analysis,  in  seek- 
ing to  portray  it,  very  often  discovered  itself  with- 
out. Herein  lies  the  difference  between  the  novel 
of  Romanticism  and  that  of  Naturalism.  These 
forms  of  literary  art,  lyric  poetry  and  the  novel, 
have  replaced  the  tragedies  of  the  Classical  era,  for 
dramatic  art  is  that  style  which,  more  than  all 
others,  demands  literary  impersonality.  From  this 
point  of  view  Racine's  tragedies  are  superior  to 
Victor  Hugo's  dramas,  and  this  is  what  constitutes 
to  a  great  degree  the  superiority  of  the  Comedy  of 
Manners  of  Dumas  and  Augier.  But  what  style 
will  be  adopted  by  the  new  French  literature  ?  We 
agree  with  M.  Lanson,  that  "  scientific  literature — 
parody  and  derision  of  science — belongs  to  the 
past,  that  only  an  artistic  literature  can  take  its 
place, — a  literature  which  will  express  the  truths  of 
Romanticism  and  Naturalism  in  a  Classic  form."  ^ 

Since  art  cannot  escape  the  objective  any  more 
than  it  can  dispense  with  the  subjective,  something 
both  personal  and  impersonal  must  enter  into  criti- 
cism as  well  as  into  all  other  forms  of  literary  art. 
The  criticism  of  the  Realistic  period  was  more 
impersonal,  more  objective,  but  with  many  recent 
French  critics  there  has  been  a  reaction  in  favor  of 

'  Lanson,  Ilisioirc  dc  la  littt'rature  fran^aise. 


Introduction.  xxi 

personal,  subjective  criticism.  This  is  to  be  ex- 
plained by  the  fact  that  many  who  began  as  lyric 
poets  drifted  into  criticism  after  coming  in  contact 
with  the  analytical  spirit  of  the  times.  However, 
impressionism  in  criticism,  considered  as  the  nota- 
tion of  the  literary  sensations  of  the  critic,  is  not 
in  the  direct  line  of  the  evolution  of  contemporary 
criticism. 

Only  with  the  nineteenth  century  has  criticism 
attained  a  general  development,  and  at  no  former 
time  in  the  history  of  the  century  has  it  reached 
so  high  a  point.  Since  Positivism  has  begun  to 
lose  ground,  criticism  has  passed  through  marked 
changes.  With  contemporary  critics  it  has  made 
great  advances.  In  order  to  show  what  position 
M.  Pellissier  takes  among  them,  it  may  be  well  to 
define  the  attitude  of  the  most  recent. 

Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand  were  the 
most  active  agents  during  the  reign  of  Romanti- 
cism ;  Taine  and  Renan  exercised  the  widest  influ- 
ence during  the  succeeding  epoch.  But  Madame 
de  Stael  and  Taine  were  the  theorists  of  the  move- 
ments marked  by  the  first  and  latter  half  of  the 
century,  the  spirit  of  both  of  which  was  diffused  by 
Chateaubriand  and  Renan,  whose  influences  were 
more  subtle  and  penetrating.  Modern  French 
criticism  began  with  Madame  de  Stael,  and  was 
carried  on  by  Sainte-Beuve  and  Taine  by  the  same 
methods,  although  in  different  directions.  With 
the  scientific  period  it  passed  from  a  purely  liter- 
ary art  that  supposed  a  science,  into  a  science  that 
often  supposed  an  art.    However  much  criticism  may 


XX  i  i  Iiitroductio7i. 

gain  from  physiology,  history,  and  philosophy,  the 
first  object  of  literature  will  always  be  artistic  ex- 
pression, and  as  an  art  it  should  not  cease  to  be 
considered.  The  critics  of  to-day  have  withdrawn 
criticism  from  the  direction  given  to  it  by  the  mas- 
ters of  the  scientific  period,  and  without  ceasing  to 
apply  the  same  methods,  have  led  it  back  to  its 
true  sphere.  Taine  too  often  considered  literary 
works  as  documents  upon  history.  That  criticism 
deviated  with  the  passing  epoch,  and  became  ab- 
sorbed in  history,  was  to  a  great  measure  due  to 
his  influence.  Sainte-Beuve  too  often  considered 
literary  works  as  documents  upon  physiology.  But 
beneath  the  naturalist  there  was  an  artist  who  con- 
tinued to  judge  literary  production  from  artistic 
standards.  Siofnificant  of  the  differences  of  their 
criticism  is  the  fact  that  Sainte-Beuve  limited  him- 
self to  the  particular,  while  Taine  preferred  to 
apply  himself  to  the  general. 

Criticism,  creative,  dogmatic,  constructive,  as 
considered  by  Taine,  can  best  be  called  the  phi- 
losophy of  literary  history.  Although  the  "  critique 
evolutioniste"  was  outlined  by  him,  it  was  for  other 
minds  to  modify  his  views  and  give  his  arguments 
a  solid  foundation.  M.  Brunetiere  relates  litera- 
ture to  human  life  by  showing  the  progress  of 
thought  in  the  evolution  of  literary  styles.  Of  all 
French  critics  of  to-day,  he  is,  perhaps,  best  en- 
dowed for  this  task,  in  which  line  criticism  has 
made  great  strides  with  him.  In  the  cast  of  his 
mind,  M.  Brunetiere  is  peculiarly  fitted  to  under- 
stand Classical  literature,  of  which  he  is  the  most 


Introduction.  xxiii 

able  exponent.  In  the  breadth  of  his  taste,  M. 
PelHssier  is,  perhaps,  better  endowed  for  compre- 
hending the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
with  which  he  is  more  in  sympathy.  He  is  neither 
lacking  in  appreciation  of  the  merits  of  Classicism 
nor  does  he  yield  himself  to  the  vagaries  of  the 
modern  spirit.  His  work  falls  between  that  of 
Sainte-Beuve  and  Taine.  He  has  admirably  united 
the  qualities  of  both.  In  treating  what  is  general 
in  thought  movements,  he  has  not  slighted  what  is 
particular.  In  considering  literature  in  its  historic 
aspect  he  does  not  submit  criticism  to  history. 

For  him  the  psychological  study  of  an  author 
only  serves  the  better  to  appreciate  his  work  from 
the  creator's  point  of  view.  He  notes  only  those 
features  which  have  profoundly  marked  literary 
physiognomy,  only  those  circumstances  which  have 
materially  guided  the  development  of  talent.  He 
shows  in  what  consists  an  author's  originality,  his 
dependence  and  influence,  in  what  respect  he  ex- 
cels or  falls  short  as  a  thinker  or  writer.  He 
considers  men  of  genius  necessary  factors  in  the 
evolution  of  literature,  both  in  embodying  the 
spirit  of  their  times  and  in  preparing  and  directing 
it  into  new  channels.  In  addition  to  the  historical 
import  of  an  author's  work,  he  judges  it  according 
to  what  human  truth  he  has  been  able  to  condense 
in  a  personal  form  and  by  the  excellence  of  that  form. 

He  holds  that  the  true  beauty  of  books  lies 
in  something  intimate  and  personal  beyond  the 
rules  of  rhetoric,  something  characteristic  in  an 
author's   manner   of   seeing,    feeling,  and   writing 


xx\'i  Inirod^iction. 

factors  in  an  influence  which  has  been  prolonged 
in  a  orreat  measure  because  his  reviews  have  never 

o 

been  collected  and  published. 

Ernest  Tissot  classes  critics  as  literary,  moral 
and  analytical.^  Brunetiere  and  Lemaitre  are 
literary  critics  ;  the  works  of  Scherer  and  D'Au- 
revilly  belong  to  moral  criticism ;  Bourget  and 
Hennequin  are  analytical  critics.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  suggest  in  what  each  view  of  criticism 
is  incomplete,  or  in  what  this  classification  is  often 
arbitrary.  With  no  one  is  criticism  more  serious 
than  with  Brunetiere ;  with  no  one  is  it  more 
pleasing  and  suggestive  than  with  Lemaitre. 
Scherer  was  the  greatest  scholar  of  recent  French 
critics ;  while  Brunetiere  now  seems  to  cover  the 
widest  sphere  of  culture.  Scherer,  lacking  artistic 
feeling,  employed  a  style  too  charmless  for  his 
works  to  reach  any  great  degree  of  popularity. 
Although  sometimes  leaning  towards  archaism, 
Brunetiere's  style  is  a  vivid  medium  of  expression. 

No  one  believed  more  devoutly  than  did  Scherer 
during  the  first  half  of  his  career,  no  one  doubted 
more  sincerely  than  he  during  the  latter  part  of 
his  life.  Possessing  in  so  great  a  degree  loyalty 
of  mind,  he,  nevertheless,  retained  in  his  heart 
the  severity  of  dogmatism.  He  became  a  sceptic 
without  its  indulgence.  Brunetiere,  so  also  Bour- 
get and  Vogue,  have  thrown  sympathy  and  influ- 
ence with  the  revival  of  Catholicism.  According 
to  Rene  Doumic,^  Lemaitre's  criticism  is  a  "  union 

'  Tissot,  les  Evolutions  de  la  critique. 
'  Doumic,  les  Ecrivains  iVaiijourd' hui. 


Introduction.  xxvii 

of  Classic  taste  with  modern  form."  He  is  both 
"subtle  and  na'ive,  both  sceptic  and  sensual." 
Mobile  of  mind,  assuming  various  attitudes,  like 
Renan  he  has  never  lost  the  simplicity  of  early- 
faith.  If  at  times  a  dilettante  in  mind,  he  cannot 
be  accused  of  disloyalty  of  heart.  His  is  always 
an  indulgent  scepticism  ;  also  like  Renan  he  ap- 
pears less  dogmatical  than  he  is,  just  as  Taine 
appeared  more  so  than  he  really  was.  What  Rene 
Doumic  calls  Lemaitre's  neo-Hellenism  is  "very 
different  from  the  philosophical  scepticism  of 
Scherer  or  the  mental  cosmopolitanism  of  Bour- 
get.  ...  It  resembles  neither  the  rigid  aus- 
terity and  intellectual  vigor  of  the  one,  nor  the 
pessimism  and  effeminacy  of  the  other."  ^ 

More  objective  in  Brunetiere  and  Pellissier, 
more  subjective  in  Lemaitre  and  Bourget,  modern 
French  criticism  has  found  its  most  impersonal 
expression  in  Faguet  and  Hennequin,  and  its  most 
personal  expression  in  Anatole  France.  With 
Bourget  and  Faguet  criticism  becomes  literary 
psychology.  However,  Bourget  too  often  seeks 
the  same  tendencies  in  character.  Like  Lemaitre, 
he  is  something  of  an  impressionist,  as  becomes 
the  critic  of  the  modern  soul.  No  one  has  so 
keenly  analyzed  that  modernism  with  which  he 
seems  almost  to  identify  himself  in  the  characters 
of  the  writers  he  studies.  A  moralist  by  nature, 
he  has  been  one  of  the  first  to  recall  his  generation 
to  the  fact  that  it  possesses  a  soul.  But,  "  to  the 
study  of  moral  problems,"  says  Rene  Doumic,  "  he 

'  Doumic,  les  Ecrivains  d'aujourd^hui. 


xxviii  Introduction. 

has  brought  a  sensibility  and  an  imagination  not 
untouched  by  that  very  modernism  from  which  he 
would  bring  about  a  reaction."  ^  To  this  is  due  his 
popularity.  Although  better  known  as  a  novelist, 
he  excels  as  a  critic.  But  he  is  also  an  artist  and 
a  poet  as  well  as  an  analyst,  and  in  this  consists  his 
originality.  The  subtle,  languid  charm  of  the  dilet- 
tante is  also  characteristic  of  the  style  of  the  more 
serious  works  of  his  later  manner. 

Faofuet  shuns  that  modernism  which  Bourg-et  has 
solely  pictured.  Independent  of  mind,  he  distrusts 
schools.  He  confines  himself  to  literary  portraits 
and  gives  little  place  to  general  conceptions.  It 
seems  to  have  been  a  necessity  of  his  nature  to  see 
and  state  things  clearly.  From  having  been  a  great 
reader,  he  became  one  of  the  first  of  critics.  He 
naturally  prefers  to  analyze  great  thinkers  rather 
than  great  artists,  and  values  vigor  of  thought 
above  virtue  of  form.  He  always  places  before  us 
objective  realities  of  the  characters  he  portrays. 
He  does  not  present  thoughts  and  reasons,  but 
thinking,  reasoning  people  which  become  living 
portraits  and  so  remain  in  our  minds.  His  style  is 
what  might  be  supposed, — clear,  vigorous,  and 
direct.  Above  all  things  he  is  frank  and  sin- 
cere. 

Bourget  directs  analysis  rather  towards  char- 
acter, mental  temperament,  while  with  Faguet 
the  analysis  of  character  and  production  is  more 
justly  balanced.  In  the  analysis  of  works,  as  M. 
Guyau  remarks,  both  Brunetiere  and  Faguet  seem 

'  Doumic,  les  Ecrivains  d'aiijourd' huit. 


Introduction.  xxix 

to  wish  to  prove  that  the  merits  of  a  work  are  self- 
evident,  that  its  defects  only  are  veiled  from  view. 
Negative,  militant  criticism,  as  he  says,  should  al- 
ways assume  the  inferior  role/  In  "scientific  criti- 
cism" Hennequin  includes  aesthetic,  psychological, 
and  sociological  analysis,  but  it  is  in  respect  to 
aesthetic  analysis  that  his  work  is  most  excellent. 
We  find  in  him  the  same  exasperation  of  the  ana- 
lytical spirit  so  marked  in  Bourget.  Just  as  he  is 
a  keener  analyst  than  Bourget,  so  is  he  more  of  an 
idealist.  His  work  is  original  and  creative.  It  was 
his  purpose  to  apply  to  criticism  a  new  method 
directly  opposed  to  that  of  Taine.  As  we  know, 
Taine  was  the  initiator  of  sociological  criticism. 
However,  his  system  neglected  the  individual,  just 
as  Sainte-Beuve  often  too  closely  interpreted  an 
author's  works  by  his  life.  Taine  sought  to  deter- 
mine the  character  of  a  race  by  its  literature. 

Hennequin  considers  literary  works  in  their  influ- 
ence upon  a  nation.  "  The  theory  of  Taine  which 
supposes  the  milieu  which  creates  the  individual 
must  be  completed  by  the  theory  of  Hennequin 
which  supposes  the  individual  which  creates  the 
milieu^'  writes  M.  Guyau.^  Both  theories  contain 
a  part  of  truth.  Hennequin  is  a  pure  sesthetician, 
a  type  of  mind  less  rare  elsewhere  than  in  France. 
Subtle  of  mind,  a  relentless  artist,  he  employs  a 
style  which  renders  a  marvellous  picture  of  his  sub- 
ject often  by  means  of  curious  words  and  unusual 
locutions.    In  his  vivid  aesthetic  conception  he  bears 

'  Guyau,  V Art  an  point  de  vue  sociologiqtie . 
"  Ibid. 


XXX  Introduction. 

a   certain    resemblance    to    D'Aurevilly,    although 
opposed  to  him  in  respect  to  method. 

In  Hennequin  we  have  aesthetic  analysis,  while 
the  works  of  D'Aurevilly  belong  to  aesthetic  syn- 
thesis. This  belated  Romanticist  possesses  the 
power  of  evoking  a  book,  a  painting,  a  symphony 
in  a  manner  not  so  much  to  give  us  the  exact  idea 
but  the  direct  impression  of  them.  He  is  both 
impressionable  and  illogical,  an  artist  in  style  and 
an  idealist  in  thought.  During  an  epoch  of  domi- 
nant Realism  he  resolutely  upheld  the  cult  of  ideal 
aspirations.  His  is  a  Catholicism  of  sentiment 
rather  than  of  reason,  a  Catholicism  inclining  to- 
wards Mysticism.  D'Aurevilly  suggests  Villiers 
de  Lisle-Adam  who  also  lived  a  sublime  dream 
which  lifted  him  above  the  sordid  prose  of  the 
epoch  and  endured  triumphant  to  the  close  of  his 
career.  Like  all  prophets,  he  attempted  neither  to 
prove  nor  to  reason,  but  to  arouse  the  inherent 
sense  of  divinity  dormant  in  the  conscience.  It  is 
true,  the  spirit  of  evil  often  finds  a  more  prominent 
place  than  the  spirit  of  good  in  the  cult  of  these 
modern  mystics  and  in  their  followers.  Neverthe- 
less, their  influence  counts  for  more  than  their  ac- 
tual works.  There  is  an  element  of  human  truth 
in  their  conception  of  a  divinity  grasped,  created  by 
the  conscience,  just  as  there  is  in  the  theoretic  con- 
ception of  an  art  which  makes  Symbolism  the  basis 
of  its  creatic  effort.  Symbolism  is,  in  fact,  insepa- 
rable from  Mysticism.  Branded  by  the  errors  of  its 
progenitors,  Mysticism,  in  itself  insufficient  to  effect 
the  definite  revival  of  genuine  poetic  and  religious 


Introduction.  xxxi 

sentiment,  can  be  thought  to  indicate  no  more  than 
the  certain  downfall  of  Naturalistic  doctrines.  Hav- 
ing existed,  passive,  during  the  Naturalistic  period, 
it  broke  out  at  its  decline  with  all  the  latent  force 
of  a  suppressed  faculty,  turned  from  its  natural 
course  by  a  degraded  Naturalism. 

Less  remote  from  the  spirit  of  renovation  seems 
the  work  of  a  more  vigorous  school.  No  living 
writer  has  had  greater  influence  over  the  present 
generation  than  the  historian,  Lavisse,  who  unites 
the  rare  qualities  of  energy  and  amiability,  initia- 
tive and  liberality.  But  the  downfall  of  Natural- 
ism dates  from  the  appearance  of  Melchior  de 
Vogue's  Ro7naii  russe  in  1885.  The  effect  pro- 
duced by  this  work  recalls  Chateaubriand's  Gdiiie 
du  christianisme  and  Victor  Hugo's  Preface  to 
Cromwell.  No  recent  work  has  taken  such  pro- 
found hold  of  sentiment  and  imagination.  Because 
of  the  sociological  development  of  modern  art  is 
Realism,  as  found  in  the  Russian  novel  rather  than 
in  the  French,  more  in  the  direct  line  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  contemporary  literature.  Because  of  the 
absence  of  egotism  in  their  individualism,  contrary 
in  this  respect  to  the  French,  have  the  Russian 
novelists  been  received  with  so  much  enthusiasm. 

M.  de  Vogue  lacks  the  keen  logic  of  Taine,  the 
subtle  analysis  of  Bourget,  and  the  rigid  precision 
of  method  found  in  Hennequin.  Nevertheless,  his 
influence,  no  doubt,  has  been  the  greater  that  he 
possesses  other  than  the  usual  literary  qualities. 
He  is  one  of  a  class  of  writers  of  whom  he  remains 
the  only  living  example  in  France.      He  is  a  soldier 


xxxii  Introduction. 

and  a  diplomat,  and  this  is  what  we  find  him  in  all 
his  writinors.  Both  an  observer  and  an  actor  in 
the  drama  of  life,  he  is  not  the  historian  who  con- 
verts the  present  into  lifeless  documents,  but  who 
discovers  therein  fertile  springs  of  action.  By  the 
northern  writers  he  has  made  known  and  by  his 
own  works  he  has  not  only  revived  the  religion  of 
sentiment,  respect  for  the  ideal,  but  passion  for 
action,  the  cult  of  heroism,  naturally  hostile  to  the 
scepticism  and  dilettantism  of  the  age.  By  virtue 
of  "la  religion  de  la  souffrance  humaine,"  diffused 
by  those  who  have  followed  him,  Hennequin,  Rod, 
Sarrazin,  etc.,  French  Naturalism  is  being  puri- 
fied. By  virtue  of  "  la  religion  de  Taction  mor- 
ale," the  reassuring,  invigorating  message  of  those 
who  have  assisted  him,  Paul  Desjardins,  Henri 
Berenger,  etc.,  a  new  spirit  is  being  aroused  in  the 
new  generation.  The  works  of  Seailles  and  Lar- 
roumet  are  well  worthy  of  mention,  so  also  among 
the  younger  critics,  Lanson  and  Doumic,  quoted 
above. 

A  fact  not  to  be  omitted  is  the  present  effort 
towards  decentralization,  notably  in  Proven9e, 
which,  with  advancing  cosmopolitanism,  should  cor- 
rect that  lack  of  initiative  so  ready  in  the  form- 
ing of  schools.  In  no  country  have  schools  taken 
a  more  definite  form  ;  in  no  country  have  they 
had  such  persistent  influence.  Having  so  long 
possessed  a  centre  of  thought,  France,  now  as  for- 
merly, seems  to  be  able  to  shake  off  its  fetters  only 
by  foreign  intervention.  Since  in  the  intellectual, 
if  not    in    the   scientific,    movement  France   leads 


Introduction  xxxiii 

Latin  Europe,  the  study  of  its  schools  must  be  of 
the  highest  interest  to  students  of  literature. 

The  evolution  of  French  literature  is  real.  I 
have  wished  to  outline  its  history  as  presented  by 
M.  Pellissier,  and  to  suggest  in  what  respects  con- 
temporary thought  has  changed  since  the  publica- 
tion of  his  work.  The  evolution  of  its  criticism  is 
no  less  real.  It  has  been  my  purpose  to  point  out 
what  advance  criticism  has  made  with  M.  Pellissier 
and  his  contemporaries  and  to  indicate  their  in- 
fluence upon  the  new  forms  of  thought.  To  the 
original  work  of  M.  Pellissier,  the  son  of  a  Protes- 
tant French  Pastor,  and  a  critic  distinguished  in 
letters,  I  have  added  for  the  use  of  students  a  Table 
of  Contents,  Index,  and  Chronological  List  of 
authors  and  of  their  works. 

With  sincere  pleasure  I  acknowledge  the  kind- 
ness of  M.  Pellissier  in  having  furnished  me  with 
the  inedited  sketch  of  the  poet  Heredia,  and  for 
his  approval  of  the  selections  made  to  illustrate  the 
evolution  of  the  alexandrine.  Recognition  is  due 
to  both  M.  Pellissier  and  Prof.  D.  G.  Brinton  for 
the  interest  they  have  shown  during  the  progress 
of  this  translation.  I  trust  that  it  will  serve  to 
throw  just  light  upon  these  writers  whom  I  first 
learned  to  know  interpreted  in  the  ancient  halls  of 
the  College  de  France  and  the  Sorbonne.  I  recom- 
mend them  to  a  broader  public,  recalling  the  words 
of  one  whose  genial  nature  made  his  message,  more 
than  all  others  of  his  time,  the  reconciliation  of 
science  and  religious  sentiment.  With  gentle  irony 
Renan  informed  us  that  "we  could  never  be  v/riters. 


xxxiv  Introduction. 

scholars,  without  natural  defects,  that  the  profession 
of  letters  is  in  itself  an  error,  that  talent  is  a  mild 
vice  of  which  a  saint  must  first  of  all  correct  him- 
self." Must  we  not  have  both  saints  and  scholars? 
For,  after  all,  do  their  virtues  really  differ  so  much 
as  we  are  sometimes  led  to  believe  ? 

Anne  Garrison  Brinton. 

Thornbury,  Pa., 

April,  1897. 


TABLE    OF   CONTENTS 


PART   FIRST. 


CHAPTER  I. 


CLASSICISM. 

Duration  of  Classic  epoch  . 

Character  of  Classic  doctrines     . 

Founded  by  Ronsard  and  the  Plciade 

Boileau  copies  and  defames  Ronsard  . 

Sixteenth  century  unfavorable  to  Classic  ar 

Influences  of  Henry  IV.  and  Malherbe 

Universal  security  of  seventeenth  century 

Confidence  of  Classic  writers 

Two  masterpieces  of  seventeenth  century 

Qualities  of  Classic  style 

Seventeenth  imitates  less  than  sixteenth  century 

Innovations  made  by  Corneille   . 

All  inspired  by  Greco-Latin  masters  . 

Antipathy  for  national  antiquity 

Misconception  of  Greek  tradition 

Boileau's  perversion  of  Pindar's  Odes 

Incapacity  to  comprehend  Homer 

Spirit  of  Greek  Pantheism  dissipated 

Nobility  of  language  and  manners 

Suppression  of  the  ego  in  literature 

Conventionality  of  social  intercourse  . 

Complete  sacrifice  of  domestic  life 

Artificiality  preferred  to  nature  . 

Character  of  Classic  divinity 

Superficiality  of  Catholicism 

Character  of  Classic  reason 

Classic  heroes  types,  not  individuals    . 

Dogmatism  of  Classic  criticism  . 

Political  conviction  of  seventeenth  century 

Hierarchy  of  literary  styles 

Faith  the  mark  of  the  epoch 


PAGB 

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XXXV 1 


Table  of  Contents. 

CHAPTER  II. 


THE  PRECURSORS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CKNTURY. 


Indications  of  a  renovation 

Seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  compared 

Classicism  prolonged  by  Voltaire 

Three  precursors  of  nineteenth  century 

Early  life  of  Rousseau 

Antagonism  of  his  social  attitude 

His  message  to  re-enter  self 

Subjective  character  of  his  works 

Sensibility  outweighs  reason 

By  it  revives  poetry  of  passion    . 

Faults  attributed  to  sensibility    . 

Hume's  opinion  of  Rousseau 

First  victim  of  "  malady  of  the  century  " 

Love  during  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries 

Rousseau  regenerates  love 

Discovers  the  poetry  of  nature    . 

Associates  himself  with  its  moods 

Teaches  the  secret  of  revery 

His  taste  for  domestic  life  . 

Animates  parental  sentiment 

Inspires  spiritual  renaissance 

Similarity  to  that  of  Chateaubriand    . 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  and  Rousseau 

Style  of  master  and  pupil  compared    . 

First  painter  of  foreign  landscapes 

Originality  of  his  descriptions     . 

Character  of  Diderot's  mind 

Rousseau,  initiator  of  Romanticism    . 

Diderot,  initiator  of  Realism 

His  liberality  of  mind  and  heart 

Import  of  his  theatrical  reform  . 

Serious  Comedy  and  Bourgeois  Tragedy 

His  moralist's  preoccupations     , 

Substitutes  individuals  for  types 

Liberty  in  action  and  stage  setting 

Employs  prose  instead  of  verse  . 

Diderot's  influence  upon  Mercier 

Aims  to  unite  comedy  and  tragedy 

Replaces  antiquity  by  modern  life 

Similarity  of  their  theatre   . 

Considered  in  their  followers 


Table  of  Contents. 


xxxvu 


Andre  Chenier,  regenerator  of  poetry 
The  progenitor  of  Romanticism 
Hermes  a  monument  to  eighteenth  centurj- 
Untouched  by  Christian  emotions 
Love  the  inspiration  of  his  poetry 
Compared  with  that  of  Romanticists  . 
Pagan  character  of  his  conception 
Plastic  beauty  in  his  followers    . 
First  artist  since  seventeenth  century  . 
Assimilates  from  ancient  M'riters 
Renovates  versification,  restores  alexandrine 
Novelty  and  "  nobility  "  of  style 
Considered  as  the  poet  of  nature 
Regenerates  pastoral  and  elegy  . 
Dawning  of  a  purer  inspiration  . 
Conception  of  the  poet's  vocation 
Early  death  and  posthumous  fame 


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CHAPTER  III, 


MADAME   DE   STAEL  AND   CHATEAUBRIAND. 


As  leaders  of  Romanticism 
Compared  in  respect  to  religion 
Rousseau's  early  influence  . 
Rejection  of  certain  of  his  ideas 
Affinities  of  race  and  education 
Effect  of  Revolution  upon  her 
The  leader  of  the  new  era  . 
Her  intellectual  "  Europeanism 
German  and  Italian  influences 
Debt  owed  to  Chateaubriand 
Their  religious  differences  . 
Introduces  "  Septentrional  spirit" 
Her  LiiUrature  and  Alleviagne  . 
Considers  renaissance  necessary 
Always  inimical  to  imitation 
Offers  a  new  code  of  poetics 
Inspires  theatrical  renaissance 
Restores  lyricism  to  honor 
Morality  her  preoccupation 
Upholds  efficacy  of  melancholy 
Her  conception  of  nature   . 
Great  thinker,  mediocre  writer 


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63 
63 
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64 


XXXVlll 


Table  of  Conte7tts. 


Her  style  an  improvization 
Renews  art,  religion,  criticism   . 
Breadth  of  her  influence 
Unity  of  Chateaubriand's  life 
Antipathy  for  Madame  de  Stael 
Decorative  conception  of  Christianity 
Extent  and  effect  of  his  travels  . 
Sense  of  honor,  love  of  pose 
Personal  character  of  his  works  . 
Rene  compared  to  Oberman 
Sincerity  of  his  Christianity 
Arguments  of  Genie  du  christianisme 
Considered  as  work  of  poetic  art 
Compared  with  Pascal  and  Bonald 
Prefers  seventeenth  to  eighteenth  century 
Upholds  formulas  of  Classic  art 
A  Christian,  he  favors  Greek  art 
Character  of  his  descriptive  style 
Seeks  to  render  general  impression 
Voyage  d'Afiacharsis,  V Itindraire 
Martyrs  effects  historical  renaissance 
Historian  eclipsed  by  the  poet    . 
Classic  qualities  of  his  style 
Scruples  of  style,  lack  of  substance 
Influence  in  respect  to  form 
Decline  of  fame  after  MJmoires 
Death  and  advent  of  Realism 
Favor  has  lately  returned  to  him 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE   PSEUDO-CLASSICISTS. 


Fruitless  efforts  of  Classicism 
General  character  of  Classic  art 
Followed  by  pseudo-Classicism  . 
Conservatism  of  Voltaire,  of  La  Harpe 
Similar  spirit  of  other  critics 
Universal  lack  of  initiative 
Classic  spirit  and  formulas  restricted 
Lebrun,  last  of  Classic  lyricists  . 
Insipidity  of  his  ode  and  elegy    . 
Debility  of  Millevoie  and  Fontanes 
Comedy  of  the  Imperial  epoch    . 


Table  of  Contents. 


xxxix 


Tragedy  inferior  to  its  comedy    . 
Unity  of  place  and  time  preserved 
A  renovation  becomes  imminent 
Ducis  adapts  Shakespearean  drama     . 
Its  unwelcome  reception  in  1822 
Novelty  of  Lemercier's  works     . 
Antiquity  of  Raynouard's  Templiers  . 
Tragedy  regenerated  under  Restoration 
Lebrun  best  represents  new  spirit 
No  intermediary  seems  possible 
Scandal  aroused  by  Lebrun  and  Lemercier 
Reception  of  Othello,  of  Hernani 
Delille,  the  "  prince  of  poetry" 
Didactic  character  of  his  poetry 
Spirit  evident  in  his  followers     . 
Growth  and  decline  of  Classic  school 
New  art  forms  brought  by  Revolution 


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92 
92 
93 
94 
94 
95 
96 
96 
97 
98 


PART   SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ROMANTICISM. 


Adoption  of  the  word  Romantic. 

Victor  Hugo's  unwilling  acceptance    . 

Defined  in  various  manners 

Revival  of  Christian  spiritualism 

Attitude  of  Chateaubriand,  Napoleon. 

Sentimental,  rather  than  dogmatic 

Defeat  of  eighteenth  century  scepticism 

Chateaubriand,  initiator  of  revival 

In  Hugo,  Lamartine,  Vigny,  Musset  . 

Subjective  character  of  new  poetry 

Evident  in  all  the  Romantic  poets 

Joyous  character  of  Classic  poetry 

Melancholy  introduced  by  Christianity 

Marked  in  all  the  Romantic  poets 

Universal  sentiment  for  nature  . 

Their  most  fertile  inspiration 

Revealed  by  precursors  of  nineteenth  century 

Sympathy  for  national  antiquity 


99 

99 
100 

lOI 

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102 
103 
103 
104 
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106 
107 
107 
108 
109 
no 
III 
ri2 


Table  of  Conte^its. 


Victor  Hugo's  Preface  to  Cromwell    . 
His  great  epopee  of  Gothic  art    . 
English  and  German  influences  . 
In  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand 
Freedom  from  imitation  in  others 
Victor  Hugo's  contempt  for  imitators 
Renovation  resumed  after  Revolution 
Romanticism  frees  art  from  formulas  , 
Favors  renaissance  of  Greek  spirit 
Chenier,  first  true  poet  of  Greece 
Greek  spirit  in  later  Romanticists 
Liberty  of  artistic  expression 
Accepts  beauty  in  all  its  forms    . 
Disorganizes  hierarchy  of  styles  . 
Restores  claims  of  the  imagination 
Represents  liberalism  in  art 


CHAPTER  II. 


RENOVATION    OF    LANGUAGE    AND    VERSIFICATION. 


Romanticism  renews  language    . 
Character  of  Classic  language     , 
Sacrifices  graftings  of  Pleiade     . 
Malherbe  perfects  by  elimination 
Refined  by  Vaugelas  and  P.  Bouhours 
Slight  changes  during  eighteenth  century 
Innovations  made  by  Democracy 
Renovation  effected  by  Romanticism  . 
Ancient  and  modern  Pleiade  compared 
Restoration  of  old  forms  of  speech     . 
Fenelon  attacks  Classical  syntax 
Freedom  introduced  by  Romanticism 
Restores  words  rather  than  forms 
Neologisms  rarely  permitted 
Archaisms  employed  by  Chateaubriand 
Renovations  effected  by  Romantic  poets 
Prepared  by  precursors  of  nineteenth  century 
Color  in  Classicists  and  Romanticists 
Rhetorical  rule  formulated  by  Buffon 
Nobility  of  Classical  style  . 
Victor  Hugo's  great  work  in  words     . 
Romanticism  renews  versification 
Malherbe's  conservatism     . 


Table  of  Contents. 


xn 


Restorations  made  by  Romanticism    . 
Victor  Hugo  as  inventor  of  metres 
Rhyme  regenerated  by  Romanticism 
Secondary  element  with  Classicism 
Exaggerated  by  neo-Romanticists 
Indispensable  to  Romantic  alexandrine 
Victor  Hugo  alters  interior  construction 
Liberties  taken  by  sixteenth  century  . 
Symmetry  of  Malherbe  and  Boileau   . 
Alterations  in  symmetry  explained 
Ideal  line  of  twelve  syllables 
Formulas  of  Classic  alexandrine 
Alterations  introduced  by  Chenier 
Tendency  evident  in  seventeenth  century 
Overlapping  of  Romantic  alexandrine 
Its  resources  for  varied  expression 
Affinity  for  more  complex  harmonies  . 
Discordances  only  employed  in  contrast 
Symmetry  always  the  essential  rule    . 


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147 
148 
149 


CHAPTER  III. 


ROMANTIC    LYRICISM — I. 


Poetry  first  to  be  renewed  by  Romantic  movement 

Directed  by  Lamartine,  Vigny,  Hugo 

Beranger  considered  apart  from  it 

His  new  treatment  of  the  chanson 

Celebrity  due  to  circumstances    . 

Both  popular  and  scholarly  poet 

Defects  of  subject-matter  and  style     . 

His  penchant  toward  grivoiserie 

Contrasted  with  great  Romantic  poets 

Lamartine's  fame  precedes  Beranger's 

Early  imitation  of  Bertin  and  Parny  . 

Late  consciousness  of  his  vocation 

Antipathy  for  Byron  and  Chenier 

Influences  of  Rousseau  and  Bernardin 

Of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand 

The  spontaneity  of  his  poetry     . 

Effect  produced  by  his  Meditations    . 

Their  novelty  and  primitive  character 

Frees  poetry  from  scholastic  rules 

Progress  in  Nouvelles  Meditations 


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156 
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159 


Xill 


Table  of  Contents. 


Height  in  Harmonies,  decline  in  yocelyn 
Spontaneous  idealism  and  optimism    . 
His  occasional  notes  of  despair  . 
Early  education,  fortune's  favors 
Compared  to  music  of  ^olian  harp   . 
Lack  of  depth  in  thought  and  feeling 
Subjective  character  of  his  poetry 
Also  vague  in  his  conception  of  nature 
His  poetry  an  improvization 
Effects  scorn  for  the  poet's  art    . 
Lack  of  self-control  and  effort    . 
Faults  and  natural  gifts  of  style 
Alfred  de  Vigny  unlike  Lamartine 
Chenier's  influence  in  earlier  works     . 
Original  in  Aloise,  le  Cor,  and  Eloa    . 
Effect  of  Othello,  Cinq-Mars,  la  Neige 
Initiator  in  other  directions 
Peculiarity  of  his  Idealism 
Remains  faithful  to  his  cult 
Indifference  to  politics  and  progress  . 
Art  his  only  principle  of  action  . 
Seeks  consolation  in  Genius  and  Glory 
Accuses  Nature,  Man,  and  God 
His  resignation  and  pessimism    . 
Expresses  personal  sentiments  by  symbols 
Fragmentary  character  of  his  works    . 
Obscurities  of  detail  and  thought 
Considered  as  thinker  and  artist 
His  purity  excelled  by  none 
Victor  Hugo's  comparative  fertility    . 
First  period  of  his  lyrical  career 
Early  efforts  compared  with  Lamartine's 
Odes  inspired  by  Classic  tradition 
Ballades  inspired  by  middle  ages 
Original  motive  of  his  Orientales 
Their  revelation  of  plastic  resources   . 
Personal  theme  of  Fetiilles  d'automne 
Their  greater  depth  of  feeling    . 
Continued  in  Chants  du  crt^ptiscule 
Threefold  message  of  Voix  intcrieures 
Rises  in  les  Rayons  et  Ics  Ombres 
Compared  to  Lamartine  and  Vigny     . 
Earnest  vocation,  great  influence 
Persevering,  revolutionary  character  . 


Table  of  Contents. 


xl 


HI 


Breadth  of  his  conception  of  art . 
Painter  of  exterior  and  interior  world 
Virile  character  of  his  sensibility         . 
His  exalted  conception  of  love    . 
Moral  preoccupations  of  all  his  works 


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CHAPTER  IV. 


ROMANTIC   LYRICISM — II. 


Hugo,  leader  of  two  "  Cenacles  " 
Sainte-Beuve,  Musset,  Gautier  . 
Sainte-Beuve  unlike  predecessors 
Pessimism  of  Joseph  Delorme     . 
Characterization  of  his  Muse 
Attempted  suicide  and  survival  . 
Moral  progress  in  Consolations    . 
Pens^es  d'aoiit,  product  of  maturity 
Uniformity  and  novelty  of  his  manner 
Limits  of  his  poetic  inspiration  . 
Ingenuity  and  refinement  of  style 
Considered  as  studies  in  criticism 
Introduces  the  study  of  morality 
Forefather  of  the  "  Decadents    . 
Alfred  de  Musset  the  poet  of  youth 
Early  dissipation,  premature  decline 
Continued  lack  of  self-restraint  . 
Great  as  poet,  imperfect  as  artist 
Emotion  his  sole  inspiration 
Most  passionate  of  Romantic  poets 
Emotion  the  source  of  his  weakness 
Lack  of  invention  and  depth  of  thought 
Affectations  of  language,  scepticism 
Transition  in  which  he  portrays  self 
First  divines  passion  . 
Consecration  of  his  sorrow 
Its  highest  poetic  expression 
Love  represents  the  sole  good     . 
Struggle  between  love  and  debauch 
Untouched  by  moral  renaissance 
Immortalizes  a  morbid  passion   . 
Enthusiasm  of  Theophile  Gautier 
Original  only  as  an  artist    . 
Victor  Hugo  always  his  master  . 


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xliv 


Table  of  Contents, 


Influences  of  Sainte-Beuve  and  Musset 
Superficiality  of  thought     . 
Artistic  conception  of  life  . 
Not  lacking  ii)  sensibility    . 
Restrains  and  disguises  feeling  . 
Haunted  by  fear  of  death  . 
Adoration  for  the  beautiful 
Pagan  of  mediseval  superstitions 
Best  reproduces  appearances 
Superstitious  cult  for  words 
Revives  theory  of  art  for  art 
Lack  of  substance  in  his  works  . 
Importance  of  refonn  in  language 
Originality  of  Barbier  and  Brizeux 
Barbier  as  author  of  Pianto 
Influence  of  Chenier  in  les  lambes 
Popular,  cynical,  and  vigorous    . 
Brizeux  not  unlike  Alfred  de  Vigny 
Scholarly  poetry  aims  at  simplicity 
Unity  and  sequence  of  his  work 
Breton  rusticity,  Florentine  subtlety 
At  best  in  pictures  of  Breton  life 
Marie  the  purest  of  his  works    . 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  ROMANTIC  DRAMA. 

Drama  culmination  of  Romanticism    . 
Theatre  battle-ground  of  two  schools . 
Only  the  drama  can  reach  the  people 
Lyricism  followed  by  the  drama 
Necessity  of  dramatic  renaissance 
Former  efforts  in  this  direction  . 
Poetics  exposed  by  Hugo  and  Vigny  . 
Classicism  separated  comedy  and  tragedy 
Out  of  touch  with  social  environment 
Romanticism  mingles  comedy  and  tragedy 
Tragedy  engendered  abstraction 
Drama  introduces  concrete  and  particular 
Substitutes  individuals  for  types 
Tragedy  eliminated  time  and  place 
The  drama  aims  at  historical  truth 
Classic  formulas  of  dramatic  unity 
Abolished  by  the  Romantic  drama 


Table  of  Co?itents. 


:lv 


Tragedy  confined  to  supreme  crisis     . 
Drama  preserves  unity  of  action 
Substitutes  action  for  declamation 
Tragedy  admitted  only  moral  truth     . 
Aimed  everywhere  to  simplify  nature 
Drama  multiplies  actions  and  characters 
Qualities  of  language  of  tragedy 
Drama  requires  entire  vocabulary 
Characteristics  of  Classic  tragedy 
Innovations  of  the  Romantic  drama 
Hugo  less  Realist  than  Classicist 
Drama  gives  accent  to  the  trivial 
Idealization  and  abstraction  necessary 
Realistic  theatre  maintains  neither 
Moderation  of  Romantic  innovations 
Drama  seeks  harmony  in  opposites 
Does  not  succeed  in  combining  them 
Represented  by  Hugo,  Vigny,  Dumas 
Adverse  lyrical  bias  in  Hugo 
Characters  personal,  imaginative 
Embodies  thoughts  in  his  characters 
Falsifies  nature  by  violent  contrasts 
Manner  of  Hugo  and  Vigny  compared 
Vigny  first  to  enter  the  theatre    . 
Chaitertofi  his  only  success 
Declares  in  favor  of  "  drama  of  thought 
Dumas  as  opposed  to  Vigny 
Exceptional  dramatic  gifts 
Historic  only  in  exterior  features 
Appeals  solely  to  curiosity 
Lofty  ideal  of  Victor  Hugo's  theatre 
The  failure  of  his  Burgraves 
Success  of  Ponsard's  Lucrece 
Temporary  triumph  of  Classic  models 
Charlotte  Corday  his  best  work   . 
Romantic  drama  succeeded  by  comedy 
Represented  solely  by  Scribe 
His  fertility  and  artificiality 

CHAPTER  VI. 


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Romanticism  renews  history 
The  history  of  Classicism  . 
Colors  past  with  present 


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xlvi 


Table  of  Contents. 


Incompatible  with  despotism 
Favored  by  liberal  regime  . 
Augustin  Thierry  a  Romanticist 
Influences  of  Chateaubriand  and  Scott 
Effects  a  historical  reform  . 
Renovates  its  form  and  substance 
Method  of  les  Recits  me'rovitigiens 
Method  of   la  Conquete  d'Angleterre 
His  imagination  and  sympathy    . 
His  power  of  resurrection 
History  a  work  of  art  and  science 
Barante  applies  narrative  method 
Makes  facts  speak  for  themselves 
His  scrupulous  impersonality 
His  method  a  happy  exception 
Purpose  of  philosophical  school 
Early  antipathy  for  primitive  li 

Guizot  renovates  history 
His  four  elementary  factors 

Disciplines  facts  and  ideas 

Defects  of  his  generalizations 

Gives  history  a  solid  foundation 

Condenses  rather  than  develop^^^ 

Character  of  his  style 

Mignet  belongs  to  same  school 

His  qualities  as  a  historian 

Alternates  archives  by  expositions 

His  strictly  historical  works 

The  danger  of  fatalism 

History  an  art  assuming  a  science 

Artistic  qualities  of  his  style 

Thiers  reproduces  minute  details 

Values  insight  most  highly  . 

Results  obtained  by  insight 

Great  need  of  comprehension 

His  moral  neutrality  a  defect 

Inimical  to  all  artifice 

Virtues  and  defects  of  style 

Thiers  and  Michelet  contrasted 

His  imagination  and  erudition 

His  vocation  early  felt 

Possesses  sentiment  of  life  . 

His  power  of  evocation 

His  sympathy  for  obscure  masses 


Table  of  Contents. 


X 


Ivil 


Most  impassioned  of  historians  . 
Subjective  character  of  his  work 
Peculiarities  of  his  style 
Eccentricities  of  his  method 
His  great  power  of  divination     . 


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CHAPTER  Vn. 


CRITICISM. 


Renewed  by  history  with  nineteenth  century 
Formerly  dogmatic  and  speculative     . 
Contest  between  ancients  and  modems 
Classicism  comprehends  only  itself 
The  liberal  spirit  of  Romanticism 
Chateaubriand  and  Madame  de  Stael 
Barante  follows  Madame  de  Stael 
Her  method  as  applied  by  him   . 
Influence  of  foreign  literatures   . 
Active  part  taken  by  the  Globe    . 
Tradition  and  liberalism  conciliated 
Villemain,  leader  of  new  movement 
Employs  Madame  de  Stael's  method 
Historic  defects  of  Classicists 
Greco- Latin  antiquity  with  Villemain 
Mediaeval  and  modern  literatures 
His  unrivalled  charm  of  style 
Scruples  of  thought  as  well  as  form 
His  lack  of  a  definite  method     . 
Nizard,  idealistic,  didactic  method 
Applied  only  to  masterpieces 
Triple  standard  of  his  criticism  . 
Criticism  becomes  a  philosophy  . 
Gains  in  strength  and  firmness    . 
Confined  to  the  seventeenth  century 
Exalts  reason,  condemns  individuality 
Nizard  and  Saint-Beuve  contrasted 
Sainte-Beuve  resembles  Villemain 
The  poet  superseded  by  the  critic 
Early  education  scientific    . 
His  method  thoroughly  practical 
Method  as  exposed  by  his  v/orks 
Introduces  morality  and  physiology 
Criticism  not  an  exact  science 


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XlVlll 


Table  of  Contents. 


PAGE 

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Objections  against  his  method     ........  288 

Critical  spirit  personified  in  hiin           .......  2S8 

Plis  versatility  and  flexibility       ........  289 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   NOVEL. 


With  initiators  of  Romanticism 
As  considered  by  Classicism 
Adaptability  to  all  tones 
Idealistic  and  Realistic  novel 
The  historic  novel  of  1830  . 
Romantic  drama  and  historic  novel 
In  Vigny,  Hugo,  and  Dumas 
Merits  and  defects  of  Cinq-Mars 
Symbolism  of  N'otre-Dame  de  Paris 
Considered  as  epopee  of  Gothic  art 
Historic  superficiality  of  Dumas 
Appeals  solely  to  curiosity  . 
George  Sand  portrays  contemporaries 
Lyric  character  of  her  genius 
Three  periods  of  her  career 
Early  life,  unhappy  marriage 
Her  first  manner  defined    . 
Her  second  manner  defined 
Her  third  manner  defined  . 
Three  conceptions  of  love  . 
Idealized  in  three  phases     . 
Her  generosity  of  nature     . 
Spontaneity  of  her  genius  . 
Her  appearance  and  bearing 
Lack  of  unity  and  sequence 
Keen  psychological  insight 
Qualities  of  her  style 
Excels  in  novels  of  second  manner 
Considered  as  painter  of  nature 
Adapted  to  reality  by  Stendhal 
His  early  Romantic  sympathy 
Materialism  of  thought  and  style 
As  psychologist  and  moralist 
His  lack  of  creative  power 
A  progenitor  of  Realism     . 


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Merimee  disciple  of  Stendhal 
Truth  of  his  historic  novel 
His  scrupulous  impersonality 
Compared  with  Stendhal    , 
Excellence  of  his  style 
Excels  himself  in  Colomha  . 
Balzac  represents  Realism  . 
Employs  two  methods  of  art 
His  Romantic  character     . 
Idealization  of  the  vulgar  . 
Presents  good  as  unconscious 
Man  as  an  irresponsible  agent 
Appearance  and  mannerisms 
Lack  of  refinement  in  his  works 
Portrays  details  in  environment 
Portrays  details  in  characters 
Possesses  great  creative  power 
His  work  a  comedy  of  manners 
The  historian  of  his  times  . 
Irregularity  of  his  style 
Breadth  of  his  vocabulary  . 


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PART   THIRD. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE   EVOLUTION    OF    REALISM. 


The  adversary  of  Romanticism  . 
Romanticism  and  Realism  defined 
Duration  of  Classicism  and  Romanticism 
Principles  of  the  two  schools 
Romanticism  a  "  condition  of  soul  "  . 
Faithful  to  its  promises 
Truth  of  Romanticism  subjective 
Romantic  influence  in  Science    . 
Realistic  conception  of  Science  . 
Spiritualism  and  Positivism 
Determinism  as  opposed  to  both 
Heroes  of  Romanticism  and  Realism 
Two  conceptions  of  Sociology     . 
Two  conceptions  of  the  State 


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Table  of  Contents. 


Romanticism — poetry  ;  Realism — prose 
Our  age  hostile  to  poetry  ..... 
Character  altered  if  not  stifled  .... 
Realistic  opposed  to  Classic  and  Romantic  theatre 
Novel  an  exact  notation  of  life  .... 
Realistic  conception  of  history  .... 
History  enters  into  criticism        .... 


CHAPTER  II. 


Realism  slow  to  influence  poetry 
Survivors  of  Romantic  generation 
Victor  Hugo  alone  triumphant    . 
Retaliation  in  les  Chdtimenls 
Cotitcmplatiotis,  a  return  to  the  familiar 
Le'gende  an  epopee  of  progress     . 
Possesses  historical  sense    . 
New  departure  in  rAnnee  terrible 
His  inexhaustible  fertility  . 
Posthumous  work,  Toute  la  lyre 
Schools  traced  to  his  influence     . 
Wholesomeness  of  his  talent 
A  magician,  not  a  philosopher    . 
Great  moralist  as  well  as  artist    . 
Victor  Hugo  creates  cult  for  form 
Banville,  disciple  of  Gautier 
Paganism  of  Gautier  and  Banville 
His  work  to  regenerate  rhyme    . 
Cult  for  words,  superficiality 
Baudelaire,  a  disciple  of  Gautier 
Originality  curious  and  complex 
Inferior  conception  of  love 
Sensuality  and  mysticism    . 
Perversion  of  nature  and  art 
Cult  for  form  and  incapacity 
Prototype  of  the  "  Decadents"  . 
Leconte  de  Lisle  unlike  Baudelaire 
Affinity  with  Victor  Hugo  . 
Leader  of  the  "  Impassibles  "     . 
Advocates  impersonal  poetry 
Poetry  a  form  of  philosophy 
His  native  Buddhism . 


Table  of  Contents. 


He  seeks  repose  in  creation 
Found  only  within  the  tomb 
Beauty,  symbol  of  happiness 
Greece  his  true  home  . 
Decadence  of  Greek  beauty 
His  style  lacking  in  grace  . 
De  Lisle,  like  de  Vigny,  personal 
Personal  in  spite  of  his  efforts     . 
His  unpopularity  with  the  public 
Expresses  "  malady  of  the  century  ' 
Trophe'es  of  Jose-Marie  de  Heredia 
Superior  to  Malherbe  as  artist     . 
A  disciple  of  Leconte  de  Lisle    . 
A  poet  in  three-fold  aspect 
Reduces  sentiment  to  the  beautiful 
His  cult  for  words  and  forms 
Always  remains  Spanish  in  spirit 
Romanticism  culminates  in  discipline 
Poetry  may  be  otherwise  conceived 
Originality  of  Eugene  Manuel    . 
Pages  intirnes,  Poemes  pcpulaires 
Precedes  Prudhomme  and  Coppee 
Familiar  poetry  in  Romanticists 
Always  "  poet  of  the  fireside  "    . 
Both  virile  and  delicate 
Parnassian  theory  of  art  for  art  . 
Indifferent  to  soul  of  poetry 
True  poets  separate  from  them  . 
Sully  Prudhomme  Parnassian  in  form 
His  higher  conception  of  poetry 
Indifferent  to  de  Lisle  and  Musset 
Moral  import  of  la  yustice 
Exalts  action,  paints  inner  world 
Analytical  and  self-contained 
Preoccupied  by  contemporary  science 
Delights  in  a  contest  with  prose 
Subject  of  his  best  inspirations   . 
Science  leads  to  the  infinite 
Accord  between  science  and  poetry 
His  Preface  to  la  yustice    . 
Dialogue  between  Seeker  and  Voice 
Antagonism  between  reason  and  heart 
Happiness  found  only  in  love 
Poems  philosophical  researches 


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lii 


Table  of  Contents, 


Style  sometimes  laborious  . 
Admirable  qualities  as  artist 
Coppee  submits  Parnassian  influence 
Less  strained  than  Sully  Prudhomme 
His  charm  of  phrase  and  rhythm 
Separates  in  choice  of  subjects    . 
Popular  in  subjects  and  sentiment 
Variety  of  tones  and  subjects 
Compared  with  Sully  Prudhomme 
His  heroic  narratives . 
True  field  in  familiar  narration  . 
Influence  of  Sainte-Beuve  . 
His  types  of  every-day  life 
Paints  Parisian  streets  and  suburbs 
Originality  of  descriptive  style    . 


CHAPTER  HI. 


Scientific  method  applied  by  Sainte-Beuve 
Taine  Sainte-Beuve's  disciple 
Influence  of  physiological  studies 
Reserves  a  place  for  liberty 
More  moralist  than  philosopher  . 
Enjoys  while  criticizing  works    . 
Criticism  an  emanation  from  books 
A  positive  science  with  Taine     . 
Not  considered  as  work  of  art    . 
For  historical  facts  furnished 
More  philosopher  than  moralist . 
Bearing  of  historical  documents . 
Dominant  faculty  of  each  person 
Influences  of  race,  place,  time    . 
Considered  in  a  single  man 
Considered  in  respect  to  groups  . 
Method  and  object  always  the  same 
He  suppresses  free  will 
Docs  not  grasp  "  inexpressible  monad 
Does  not  apply  inductive  analysis 
Dominant  supposes  generative  faculty 
A  poet  and  an  artist    . 
Virtues  and  faults  of  style  . 
Taine  and  Renan  contrasted 


Table  of  Contents, 


lili 


FAGS 

Disinterested  pursuit  of  ideal      . 396 

Sympathy  for  martyrs          .........  396 

His  mental  dilettanteism     .........  397 

Indulgence  of  moral  attitude      ........  397 

Idealism,  basis  of  his  character  ........  397 

Possesses  sense  of  divinity 398 

Reasons  for  abandoning  Catholicism  .......  398 

Analysis,  basis  of  his  mind          ........  399 

A  dreamer  and  a  critic        .........  399 

Qualities  as  a  historian        .........  400 

Admiration  for  Michelet      .........  400 

Vocation  early  outlined       .........  401 

Sympathy  for  all  religions  .........  401 

Scepticism  and  dilettanteism       ........  402 

Artistic  conception  of  religion     ........  403 

Artistic  qualities  of  his  style        ........  404 

Greatest  writer  of  the  epoch        ........  405 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   NOVEL. 


Survivors  of  "  Idealistic"  school 
Flourishes  with  Realistic  school . 
Victor  Hugo  exempt  from  Realism 
Slight  influence  over  George  Sand 
Octave  Feuillet's  first  manner 
Realism  evident  in  second  manner 
Its  aristocratic  character 
His  dogmatic  tendencies     . 
Realism  transforms  the  novel 
Effected  by  Flaubert's  influence  , 
Originality  of  Aladame  B ovary 
Flaubert  and  Balzac  compared 
Unites  Romantic  and  Realistic  art 
Flaubert's  greater  impersonality 
Purposes  to  represent  life  exactly 
Submits  psychology  to  physiology 
Portrays  types  of  mediocrity 
Romanticism  evident  in  his  works 
Evident  in  his  appearance  . 
His  extreme  sensibility 
Persistence  of  Romantic  spirit    . 
Classic  qualities  of  Madame  Bovary 


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llv 


Table  of  Contents, 


Derides  Romantic  extravagances 
Romanticist  in  respect  to  style    . 
Superstitious  cult  for  form 
Unpopularity  for  the  Goncourts 
Final  influence  of  their  works     . 
Their  historiographical  studies    . 
Peculiarity  of  their  method 
Most  modern  and  particular 
Novel  becomes  contemporary  history 
Its  psycho-physiological  character 
An  incorporation  of  "  human  documents' 
Not  adapted  to  the  theatre 
Impressionability  their  originality 
Style  compared  with  Flaubert 
Modeled  upon  the  direct  impression 
The  "  convicts  of  the  book  " 
Notation  of  personal  sensations  . 
Works  confined  to  "  modernity  " 
Decadent  in  taste  and  style 
Originality  of  Zola  and  Daudet  . 
Dogmatic  character  of  Zola's  mind 
The  legislator  of  Naturalism 
His  method  opposed  to  Realism 
Characters  types,  novels  symbolical 
Method  of  incorporating  materials 
Characters  demonstrate  ideas 
Physiological  novel  untrue  to  life 
Materialism  his  only  originality  . 
Psychologist  of  the  "  bete  humaine  " 
Works  poems  rather  than  dramas 
His  style  uniform  and  ponderous 
Neither  original  nor  correct 
Zola  dogmatic,  impersonal 
Daudet  spontaneous,  personal     . 
Manner  of  treatment  compared  , 
Method  of  collecting  materials    . 
Invariably  copies  from  nature     . 
Impressionability  and  sympathy 
His  Optimism  opposed  to  Naturalism 
A  union  of  poetry  and  reality 
Style  savors  of  improvization 
Compared  to  that  of  Goncourts. 


Table  of  Contents. 


Iv 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  THEATRE. 


Failure  of  Classic  tragedy  revived 
The  drama  no  substitute  for  comedy 
Comedy  of  contemporary  manners 
With  Romanticism  confined  to  Scribe 
Realism  first  transforms  novel     . 
Ineffectual  venture  of  Balzac 
His  lack  of  theatrical  gift  . 
Hernani  and  la  Dame  aux  Camillas 
Dumas  gives  dramatic  form  to  Realism 
His  sincerity  of  treatment  . 
Opposition  aroused  by  him 
Audacity  and  technical  skill 
Logic,  not  imagination,  necessary 
Aims  to  restore,  not  to  invent 
Not  an  exact  copy  of  reality 
Results  due  to  his  rigid  logic 
Living  qualities  of  his  style 
Constitutes  the  theatre  a  school 
Founds  the  "  theatre  utile  " 
Comedy  judged  by  artistic  merit 
Symbolism  of  his  characters 
Love  his  sole  inspiration 
Materialism  of  his  conception 
Prostitution  his  "  monster" 
Superiority  of  man  over  woman 
His  conception  of  the  "  Beast  " 
Dumas  preceded  by  Augier 
Replaces  vaudeville  by  comedy 
Dumas'  opinion  of  Gabrielle 
Less  revolutionary  than  Dumas 
Works  of  his  first  manner  . 
Always  confined  to  verse     . 
Works  of  his  second  manner 
Limited  to  the  prose  form  . 
Moral  import  of  his  theatre 
Not  carried  away  by  Utopias 
Does  not  pose  as  an  apostle 
His  sphere  more  extended  . 
His  types  of  every-day  life 
Treats  serious  social  problems 


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Ivi 


Table  of  Contents. 


PAGE 

Good  sense  his  chief  quality        ........  471 

Possesses  logic  and  movement     ........  472 

Cordiality  of  his  satire         .........  472 

Classic  qualities  of  his  style         ........  472 

Sardou  a  disciple  of  Scribe          ........  473 

Silhouettes  rather  than  types      ........  473 

Interest  confined  to  intrigue        ........  473 

Extreme  rapidity  of  movement    ........  474 

Excellence  of  dramatic  style        ........  474 

Revives  the  ancient  vaudeville    . 474 

CONCLUSION. 


No  revolution  near  at  hand 
Poetry  holds  an  inferior  place     . 
Novel  most  flourishing  of  styles  . 
Disciples  of  Zola  and  Stendhal   . 
Comedies  of  contemporary  manners 
Effort  of  Naturalistic  theatre 
Facts  proved  by  its  failure 
Realism  not  compromised  by  excesses 
Futility  of  decadent  theories 
Mai  du  siccle  and  dilettanteism  . 
Mysticism  of  dilettante  spirit 
Uncorrupted  by  decadence 
Virile,  loyal  effort  towards  truth 
The  ideal  introduced  into  the  real 

Bibliography  .... 
Index    


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479 
479 

481 

489 


THE   LITERARY  MOVEMENT 
IN  FRANCE 


THE 


LITERARY  MOVEMENT  IN  FRANCE 

DURING  THE   NINETEENTH    CENTURY. 


laart  f  ir^t. 


CHAPTER   I. 

CLASSICISM. 

WHAT  we  call  the  Classic  epoch  of  our  literary 
history  extends  from  the  middle  of  the  six- 
teenth to  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
Whatever  their  forms  during  this  lapse  of  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  art  and  poetry  are  governed 
by  principles  comprehensive  enough  to  reconcile  all 
successive  phases.  These  doctrines  are,  moreover, 
also  sufificiently  marked  in  import  and  enduring  in 
influence  to  impress  upon  all  styles  that  character 
of  relationship  necessary  to  the  unbroken  reign  of 
the  same  precepts. 

The  Classic  school  may  be  said  to  have  been 
founded  when,  after  having  broken  away  from  the 
middle  ages,  the  Pleiade  fashioned  our  language 
and  literature  upon  the  models  of  Greco-Latin 
antiquity.      Far    from    throwing    everything    into 


2  Literary  Movement  i7i  France. 

confusion,  as  Boileau  assures  us,  Ronsard  imposed 
upon  poetry  and  all  the  poetic  styles  restored  by 
him  and  his  disciples,  those  same  special  rules  and 
general  laws  proclaimed  a  hundred  years  later  by 
Boileau  himself  with  all  the  authority  of  a  firmer 
judgment  and  traditions  already  long  established. 
Boileau  defames  Ronsard  while  appropriating  his 
doctrines  without  being  aware  of  it;  and  his  Art 
poetique,  in  which  he  so  openly  ridicules  the  leader 
of  the  Pleiade  and  his  works,  is  a  monument  raised 
in  their  honor. 

Classicism  did  not,  however,  attain  during  the 
sixteenth  century  that  peculiar  perfection  to  which 
its  development  was  destined.  Such  a  tempestuous 
epoch  was  by  no  means  favorable  to  the  growth  of 
Classic  virtues.  With  a  single  effort,  Ronsard  and 
the  Pleiade  had  severed  all  the  roots  attached  to 
native  soil.  Those  poetic  styles,  formerly  the  spon- 
taneous expansion  of  ancient  Greece,  which  they 
had  substituted  for  those  of  the  middle  ages,  could 
only  be  acclimated  in  a  friendly  atmosphere.  In 
order  to  flourish,  they  must  be  sheltered  from  social 
inclemencies  and  fostered  by  the  watchful  care  pos- 
sible only  in  the  security  and  confident  leisure  of 
more  fortunate  times. 

No  sooner  had  Henri  IV.  restored  order  and 
peace  than  Malherbe  appeared.  Malherbe  definitely 
turned  the  current  of  our  poetry  into  the  path  which 
opened  such  a  glorious  future  under  the  influence  of 
more  fertile  and  more  richly  endowed  talents.  The 
bold,  adventurous  spirit,  exuberant  enthusiasm,  and 
too  often  intemperate  imagination  of  the  sixteenth 


Classicism.  3 

century  are  henceforth  subjected  to  a  vigorous 
though  narrowing  discipline.  Among  the  various 
materials  accumulated  by  Ronsard's  school  were 
found  those  most  in  touch  with  the  correct,  noble 
architecture  of  the  seventeenth  century.  For  a 
period  of  several  years  following  the  death  of  Henri 
IV.  and  of  Malherbe,  the  work  of  the  poet,  like  that 
of  the  king,  seemed  about  to  be  compromised. 
This  was  but  a  superficial  phase  of  anarchism.  In 
respect  to  both  the  literary  and  political  order,  we 
really  advance  through  more  or  less  significant 
events  to  that  era  of  discipline  and  regularity  which 
decisively  determines  the  character  of  Classicism. 

The  literature  of  the  seventeenth  century  adapts 
itself  naturally  to  its  social  environment.  These 
are  not  times  of  restlessness  and  agitation  ;  there  is 
no  confusion,  no  uneasiness.  All  writers  are  con- 
tent with  their  age.  Enjoying  the  existing  order, 
some  attempt  to  exalt  its  glory,  others  to  justify  its 
legitimacy.  The  universal  silence  which  succeeds 
the  noisy  conflict  of  religion  and  politics  is,  now 
and  then,  scarcely  ruffled  by  a  lost  voice,  feebly 
echoing  a  past  without  return  or  confusedly  presag- 
ing a  still  doubtful  future.  Bossuet,  Descartes,  and 
Boileau  all  reign  in  their  own  spheres  just  as  Louis 
XIV.  rules  over  his  kingdom.  They  confidently  dog- 
matize and  dominate  the  Church,  philosophy,  poetry, 
in  the  same  manner  in  which  the  king  governs  the 
State.  They  exercise  an  authority  always  recognized, 
because  founded  upon  principles  in  perfect  accord 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times.  The  unity  of  life  and 
fixity  of  view  of  these  writers  leave   their  imprint 


4  Literary  Alovemerit  in  Frajice. 

upon  their  productions,  and  are  evident  in  purity 
of  line,  an  even,  continuous  development,  and  the 
happy  union  of  all  faculties  in  view  of  an  ideal  of 
noble  reason  realized  without  effort. 

Classic  authors  consider  the  world  as  an  ensemble 
of  fixed  relations  having  no  disturbing  elements  in 
their  complexity,  and  ordained  by  superior  wisdom 
according  to  invariable  laws. 

Conviction  admits  of  no  doubt,  for  reason  and 
faith  both  unite  in  enlightening  their  minds.  A  self- 
reliant  judgment  orders  all  their  works.  Hence, 
their  regularity  of  method,  harmonious  proportions, 
and  lucid  unity.  Embracing  the  whole  field  with 
one  glance,  Bossuet  spreads  out  in  a  single  view, 
in  the  prose  of  his  Discours  stir  r histoire  universelle, 
that  immense  picture  of  human  destiny.  For  him, 
as  well  as  for  his  entire  century.  Christian  dogma 
represents  the  culminating  point  of  all  ages.  We 
find  an  exquisite  union  of  boldness  and  reserve, 
taste  and  genius,  in  the  verse  of  Racine's  Athalie, 
a  triumph  of  simplicity  in  grandeur.  These  are 
eminently  the  two  great  masterpieces  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Indeed,  they  but  carry  to  a  higher 
point  those  qualities  of  order  and  propriety  inherent 
in  all  the  works  of  the  times,  —  qualities  which  re- 
strain temerity,  and,  in  temperate  styles,  their 
proper  sphere,  modify  and  graduate  shades  and 
effects,  command  forms,  combine  means  in  view  of 
the  final  result,  exclude  all  complexity  for  the  sake 
of  harmony,  all  caprice  to  the  advantage  of  reason. 
Contemporary  art  and  poetry  were  greatly  lacking 
in  clearness,  symmetry,  and   the  natural   instinct  of 


Classicism.  5 

nobility.  They  are  now  characterized  by  a  perfect 
mental  equilibrium,  a  moderation  both  calm  and 
active,  a  regularity  without  monotony  or  sudden 
changes,  a  uniformity  without  platitude  or  pic- 
turesque accidents,  an  exquisite  association  of 
all  that  can  move  the  heart  without  troubling  its 
peace,  all  that  can  charm  the  imagination  without 
beguiling  it. 

The  Renaissance  of  the  sixteenth  century  was 
conducted  in  the  name  of  the  ancients ;  with  one 
effort  Ronsard  and  his  disciples  had  sought  to 
transplant  all  ancient  forms.  The  seventeenth  cen- 
tury proceeds  more  cautiously.  It  is  less  eager, 
less  grasping.  It  discreetly  borrows  instead  of 
violently  plundering.  It  is  inspired  by  antiquity 
rather  than  anxious  to  reproduce  it,  assimilates 
rather  than  imitates  it.  This  is  but  the  exercise  of 
a  more  learned  and  refined  art.  The  influence  of 
the  ancients  increases  and  triumphs  with  the  second 
generation  of  the  great  Classicists.  So  far  there 
had  been  but  protestations.  Now  Corneille  openly 
braves  all  rules.  In  his  Cid  he  introduces  the 
chivalric  drama ;  in  Don  Sanche,  foreshadows  bour- 
geois tragedy,  and  even  speaks  of  descending  the 
scale  still  lower  ;  in  Nicomede,  mingles  comic  and 
tragic  elements.  Aristotle  and  Horace,  commented 
upon  by  Boileau,  became  our  masters  during  the 
second  half  of  the  century.  The  "  moderns  "  are 
scornfully  thrust  from  the  path  of  the  Classicists,  and 
not  one  of  their  mediocre  writers  succeeds  in  s^ain- 
ing  the  favor  of  those  who  represent  the  traditions  of 
antiquity.     Moreover,  Classic  polemics  do  not  attack 


6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

doctrine ;  they  criticise  Homer's  poems  according 
to  Aristotle's  rules.  Tlieir  leader,  Perrault,  finds  in 
the  Greek  philosopher  the  formula  of  epopee  by 
which  he  condemns  the  Iliad.  Demonstrations  are 
made  less  by  reason  than  according  to  authority ; 
reasons  admit  of  discussion,  but  authority  is  law. 
Corneille  declares  that  he  would  be  the  first  to  find 
fault  with  his  Cid,  did  it  sin  against  "  the  great 
maxims  received  from  Aristotle."  La  Fontaine, 
the  most  independent  and  spontaneous  poet  of  the 
times,  establishes  a  rule  for  the  apologue  which  he 
bases  upon  the  ancients,  without  even  considering 
it  necessary  to  supply  a  reason  for  so  doing.  He 
considers  it  "  sufficient  that  Quintilian  should  have 
so  ordained  it."  Boileau  is  satisfied  in  that  the  prin- 
ciples of  his  Art  poetique  are  derived  from  Horace, 
and  is  surprised  that  any  one  should  "dare  "  combat 
them.  Racine  writes  as  if  beneath  the  eyes  of  the 
Greeks :  "  What  would  Homer  and  Euripides  say 
if  they  could  read  these  verses .?  "  "  What  would 
Sophocles  think  if  he  could  see  this  scene  repre- 
sented on  the  stage } "  All  Classic  writers  find 
their  masters  in  antiquity.  No  one  has  either  the 
absurd  pretension  to  vie  with  Greek  or  Roman 
models,  or  the  extravagant  desire  to  do  otherwise 
than  imitate  them.  In  this  way  only  can  perfec- 
tion be  attained.  Translations  from  second-rate 
Greek  and  Latin  writers  are  considered  literary 
events.  Great  pains  is  taken  to  insert  fine  expres- 
sions from  Virgil  in  their  verse,  or  artfully  weave 
quotations  from  Seneca  in  the  text  of  their  dis- 
course.     Racine   tells  us  that  there   is   nothins:  of 


Classicism.  7 

note  in  his  Britannicus  that  was  not  suggested 
by  Tacitus;  La  Bruyere  demands  from  Theo- 
phrastus  a  sort  of  safe-conduct  for  his  characters ; 
La  Fontaine  places  his  first  volume  under  y^sop's 
protection,  representing  himself  a  modest  translator 
of  the  Greek  fabulist. 

This  cult  for  antiquity  necessarily  leads  to  a  pro- 
found misconception  of  our  national  past.  The 
sixteenth  century  had  an  instinctive  repugnance  for 
the  crude  literature  of  the  middle  ages,  the  product 
of  so  strange  and  incoherent  a  civilization.  Here 
Classicism  finds  nothing  but  grossness  and  barba- 
rism, never  suspecting  that  it  might  contain  germs, 
which,  with  time  and  genius,  might  develop  into  a 
poetical  growth,  doubtless  less  pure,  but  certainly 
more  complex  in  its  harmonies,  and  of  a  more  ex- 
pressive form  of  beauty.  The  history  of  our  ancient 
poetry,  traced  in  a  few  lines  by  Boileau,  clearly 
shows  to  what  degree  he  either  ignored  or  misrepre- 
sented it.  The  singular,  confused  architecture  of 
Gothic  cathedrals  gave  those  who  saw  beauty  in 
symmetry  of  line  and  purity  of  form  but  further 
evidence  of  the  clumsiness  and  perverted  taste  of 
our  ancestors.  All  remembrance  of  the  great  poetic 
works  of  the  middle  ages  is  completely  effaced. 
No  one  supposes  in  those  barbarous  times  the  ex- 
istence of  ages  Classical  also  in  their  way ;  no  one 
imagines  either  their  heroic  songs  or  romances  of  ad- 
venture, either  the  rich  bounty  of  lyrical  styles  or  the 
naive,  touching  crudity  of  the  Christian  drama.  The 
seventeenth  century  turned  disdainfully  away  from 
the  monuments  of  national  genius  discovered  by  it; 


8  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

finding  them  sometimes  shocking  in  their  rudeness, 
sometimes  puerile  in  their  refinements.  These 
unfortunate  exhumations,  indeed,  only  serve  to 
strengthen  its  cult  for  a  simple,  correct  beauty,  the 
models  of  which  are  found  in  Greece  and  Rome. 
Why  dream  of  penetrating  the  darkness  of  our 
origin  ?  Contemporary  society  is  far  too  self-satisfied 
to  seek  distraction  in  the  study  of  a  past  which  it 
does  not  comprehend.  The  subjects  and  heroes  of 
domestic  history  are  also  prohibited.  Corneille  is 
Latin,  Racine  is  Greek ;  the  very  name  of  Childe- 
brande  suffices  to  cover  an  epopee  with  ridicule. 

Although  devout  in  their  admiration  for  antiq- 
uity, the  writers  of  the  seventeenth  century  have  by 
no  means  always  clearly  grasped  the  object  of  their 
cult.  Though  they  may  understand  Latin  tradi- 
tion, they  have  certainly  never  entered  into  the 
freer,  more  original  spirit  of  Greek  art.  They  have 
but  an  incomplete,  superficial  conception  of  Helle- 
nism. They  transform  it  into  the  likeness  of  contem- 
porary civilization  ;  and  their  own  tastes,  ideas,  social 
customs,  and  personal  prejudices  are  introduced 
into  it.  The  legends  which  caused  the  ancient 
theatre  to  tremble  with  horror,  lost  their  fatal, 
mysterious  significance  with  them.  A  virgin  sacri- 
ficed by  her  father  to  the  gods,  a  son  lifting  the 
dagger  consecrated  by  an  implacable  destiny  to 
parricide,  a  queen  thrown  by  the  fate  of  war  upon 
a  conqueror's  couch  still  reeking  with  the  blood 
of  her  lost  husband,  —  for  the  seventeenth  century, 
these  are  heroes  of  fables  invented  by  the  imagi- 
nation   of    poets.      Classic  tragedy   finds  in    these 


Classicism.  9 

legends  but  settings  more  or  less  appropriate  to 
the  analysis  of  its  characters,  never  for  a  moment 
suspecting  the  fierce  reality  in  all  its  primitive 
horror. 

Boileau  celebrates  but  does  not  understand 
Pindar,  and  when  he  decides  to  compose  an  ode, 
demands  inspiration  from  the  Greek  poet.  What 
relation  could  really  exist  between  the  mechanical 
conception  of  a  purely  conventional  lyrical  produc- 
tion and  that  magnificent  effect  produced  by  one 
of  Pindar's  odes  chanted  and  played  by  an  ancient 
chorus  1  What  affinity,  indeed,  between  it  and 
that  hymn  of  a  whole  people  taking  its  splendor 
and  movement  from  the  celebration  of  heroes  and 
domestic  gods,  the  pomp  of  solemn  ceremonies  and 
the  concourse  of  many  spectators.'*  In  fact,  what 
resemblance  can  be  found  between  so  purely  artifi- 
cial a  creation  and  the  actual  truth  of  symbols  and 
traditions,  set  in  a  thoroughly  mythological  milieu, 
in  which  are  unfolded  the  national  legends  it 
glorifies  ? 

The  seventeenth  century  comprehended  Homer 
no  better  than  Pindar.  What  we  miss  in  them  is 
exactly  what  we  like  best  in  his  epopee,  —  the  vast 
living  picture  of  a  semi-barbarous  civilization  gifted 
to  a  superior  degree,  the  unique  monument  of  an  art 
confoundins:  itself  with  nature.  We  admire  in  him 
that  literary  aim  and  intent,  the  existence  of  which 
he  did  not  even  dream.  In  his  thoroughly  sponta- 
neous o^enius  we  find  the  reflective,  conscientious 
poet  who  methodically  applies  the  rules  of  epic 
style.       By    being    imprisoned    within    the    narrow 


lo  Literary  Movemejit  Z7z  France. 

limits  of  Classicism,  the  Greek  epopee  becomes 
a  purely  artificial  composition  ;  its  real  spirit  is  not 
grasped,  and  we  no  longer  feel  the  inimitable  candor 
of  true  poetry,  that  supreme  charm  of  happy  ingen- 
uousness and  natural  grandeur.  Questions  of  art 
and  style  absorb  the  discussions  between  the  an- 
cients and  the  moderns.  Indeed,  in  the  eyes  of  his 
recognized  champion,  Homer's  greatest  merit  con- 
sists in  descending  to  the  most  minute  details  and 
relating  the  smallest  incidents  without  compromis- 
ing the  nobility  of  his  diction.  Greek  Pantheism 
can  alone  initiate  us  into  Greek  art.  For  the  critic 
of  the  times  it  is  but  the  play  of  a  lively  imagina- 
tion. Believing  that  Olympian  gods  were  born  in 
the  brain  of  poets,  they  see  nothing  more  than 
ornaments  and  pleasing  metaphors  in  those  sacred 
myths  representing  to  Greece  the  basis  of  all  poetry, 
because  the  soul  of  all  religion. 

No  society  could  be  less  fitted  than  that  of  the 
seventeenth  century  to  feel  and  understand  the 
spirit  of  primitive  antiquity.  In  order  to  appre- 
ciate Homer,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  civilize 
the  barbarian,  make  him  a  scrupulous  writer,  and 
convince  him  that  the  word  "  ass  "  is  a  "  very  noble  " 
expression  in  Greek.  Contemporary  environment 
had  brought  about  an  unnatural  development  of 
finical  politeness  which  found  all  naivete  absurd 
and  all  originality  unpardonable  extravagance.  The 
favorite  type  of  the  epoch  is  realized  in  the  "  re- 
spectable man."  His  distinctive  characteristics  are 
perfect  manners,  civility  of  tone,  reserve  of  lan- 
guage,   moderation    of   gesture,  —  in    fact,    all    the 


Classicism^  1 1 

qualities  of  shade  and  degree  which  social  life 
elevates  to  the  rank  of  virtues.  This  type  is  the 
hero  of  comedy  and  tragedy  alike.  Though  more 
aristocratic  in  Racine,  it  is  more  expressive  in 
Moliere,  and  incarnates  that  ideal  of  temperance, 
wisdom  without  pedantry,  esprit  without  pretence, 
and  gallantry  devoid  of  love,  in  which  triumph 
worldly  conventionalities  with  their  nice  attenuations 
and  discreet  indulgences.  Since  absolute  monarchy 
and  a  regular  administration  had  effaced  the  last 
vestige  of  independence,  there  was  place  for  no 
other  society  than  that  of  the  salons  and  court. 
This  fine,  contemptuous  aristocracy  left  its  mark 
upon  all  manifestations  of  moral  and  intellectual 
life,  of  which  it  is  the  supreme  and  only  school. 

The  savoir-vivre  of  the  day  became  a  law  com- 
pelling each  to  suppress  his  own  personality. 
Never  has  the  ego  appeared  more  odious  than 
during  the  seventeenth  century;  never  has  art 
been  given  a  more  objective  expression.  The 
literary  styles  most  in  vogue  are  those  which  can  be 
enjoyed  in  society  and  demand  the  least  indi- 
viduality. It  cannot  be  denied  that  Corneille  and 
Racine  allowed  some  reflection  from  their  souls  to 
pass  into  their  tragedies,  —  the  one,  that  elevation 
of  sentiment  that  provides  such  superb  tirades ;  the 
other,  that  refined,  impassioned  tenderness  divined 
through  the  veil  of  his  ideal  figures.  It  is  none  the 
less  certainly  true  that  the  poets  of  this  so  prudent 
and  reserved  Classic  society  attempt  to  conceal 
all  that  pertains  to  self.  They  dislike  making 
a   spectacle    of   themselves;    and   though    we    may 


12  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

occasionally  surprise  their  tears,  they  never  reveal 
their  secrets  to  us. 

All  are  claimed  by  social  relations,  duties,  and 
pleasures.  There  is  neither  time  nor  inclination 
for  dreams,  meditations,  or  isolating  thought. 
Although  the  life  of  salons  develops  observation 
and  analysis,  it  renders  man  as  unfit  for  impetuous 
energy  as  for.  inventive  imagination.  Whenever 
subject  to  the  profound  emotions  or  lofty  flights  of 
fancy  that  find  their  natural  expression  in  lyrical 
poetry,  men  refrain  from  indiscreet  confidences. 
Of  what  consequence  are  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  a 
single  individual.?  Only  the  king  is  allowed  to  be 
displayed  before  public  view,  and  he  is  not  an  indi- 
vidual, but  the  personification  of  the  State.  One 
universal  law  governs  existence,  —  to  act  and  talk 
like  the  rest  of  the  world,  that  is,  like  the  finical 
elite  who  give  the  tone  to  society.  To  distinguish 
one's  self  from  others  is  a  mark  of  insolence  and 
incivility.  Even  virtue  must  bow  before  conven- 
tionality and  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  custom,  under 
penalty  of  being  held  up  to  ridicule  in  the  person 
of  Alceste. 

When  society  suppresses  all  personal  life,  how 
can  domestic  pleasures  and  the  pure,  simple  aiTec- 
tions  of  the  fireside  escape  the  aristocratic  contempt 
of  contemporary  censure .?  Husband  and  wife 
observe  cold  ceremonial  forms  of  politeness.  Still 
further,  they  boast  of  dual  lives.  Conjugal  love  is 
considered  a  vulgar  sentiment,  ridiculous  enough 
for  the  amusement  of  humbler  folk.  The  world 
looks  askance  at  those  who  do  not  give  themselves 


Classicism.  1 3 

up  entirely  to  its  requirements.  It  is  an  injustice 
to  reserve  something  for  self  or  for  one's  friends. 
Each  belongs  to  the  world  ;  and,  for  this  life  of  pa- 
rade, the  heart  must  be  as  free  from  absorbing  affec- 
tions as  the  mind  from  importunate  affairs.  Children 
are  all  but  strangers  to  their  parents.  They  are 
rarely  addressed,  now  and  then  receive  but  cold 
caresses,  and  are  taught  a  ceremonious  deference 
inspired  by  fear  rather  than  love.  The  father  holds 
his  son  off,  and,  confiding  him  to  a  preceptor,  pro- 
tects himself  from  all  annoying  demonstrations. 
The  natural  affections  of  this  noble  society  seem  to 
be  tainted  with  vulgarity.  Man  can,  therefore,  only 
exhibit  what  may  give  pleasure  in  a  reunion  of 
eminently  respectable  people,  —  the  graces  of  his 
mind  and  the  elegance  of  his  costume  and  manners. 
All  that  savors  of  the  trivial  details  of  home  life  is 
excluded  from  both  life  and  art.  Conjugal  affection 
is  passed  over  to  Andromache,  because  Hector  is 
no  more;  and,  although  Astyanax  still  exists,  Ra- 
cine, instead  of  presenting  him  in  the  arms  of  his 
mother,  like  Euripides,  dares  not  even  introduce 
him  upon  the  stage.  Maternal  love  is,  indeed,  only 
a  noble  passion  when  children  remain  behind  the 
curtain. 

Confined  to  the  artificial  atmosphere  of  salons, 
the  literature  of  the  seventeenth  century  is  no  more 
strongly  attracted  towards  nature  than  towards  do- 
mestic life.  Madame  de  Sevigne  loves  the  shades 
of  Livry;  but  what  most  pleases  her  in  her  park 
are  those  symmetrical  avenues  where  she  discusses 
with   her  friends   the   news  of    the  city  and  court. 


14  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

The  Marquise  de  Rambouillet  asserts  that  "  gentle 
minds,  amateurs  of  belles-lettres,  never  find  their 
counterparts  in  the  country."  If  Boileau  really 
knew  the  honeysuckle,  it  was  only  as  the  plant 
"  directed  "  by  Anthony.  Bossuet  has  no  eyes  for 
the  flowers  of  his  garden.  Indeed,  his  gardener 
laments  not  being  able  to  plant  Saint-Jean-Chrysos- 
tomes.  The  theatre  presents  unreal  characters  in 
purely  ideal  settings,  and  with  no  other  decoration 
than  columns,  the  peristyle  of  a  temple,  or  the  por- 
tico of  a  palace.  When  Moliere  gives  a  pastoral, 
the  scene  represents  "  a  country  landscape,  neces- 
sarily agreeable."  La  Fontaine  alone  loves  the 
fields,  though  it  be  as  an  Epicurean.  From  them 
he  demands  only  quiet  sleep  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 
In  truth,  his  contemporaries  consider  him  a  sort  of 
"  innocent,"  naturally  inclined  to  associate  with 
animals ;  and  the  fable  has  no  place  in  the  official 
catalogue  of  literary  productions.  Does  not  the  idyl, 
at  least,  remain  faithful  to  its  rustic  origin }  Its 
characters  are  named  Lycidas  and  Phyllis ;  its  dec- 
orations,—  doubtless,  the  woods,  but  those  worthy 
of  a  consul.  A  conventionality  entirely  foreign  to 
pastoral  life  is  forced  upon  it,  and,  when  admitted 
among  poetic  forms,  it  is  always  as  a  great  lady 
whom  the  caprice  of  a  masked  ball  has  disguised  as 
a  milkmaid,  and  whose  distinction  of  manner  and 
elegance  of  language  are  only  further  heightened  by 
her  rural  costume.  The  fields  offer  but  repulsive 
sights  to  the  respectability  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Everything  to  be  found  there  offends  the  senses; 
the  peasants  seem   heavy  and  awkward,  the  beasts 


Classicism.  1 5 

unclean  ;  there  are  but  the  odors  of  the  stable.  Every- 
thing shocks  the  reason  :  the  rocks  are  uncouth, 
the  roads  stony,  there  are  chance  growths  of  un- 
trimmed  trees.  Even  in  the  country  do  they  look 
for  the  art  of  the  Classic  landscape  gardener.  Per- 
rault  proves  that  the  "  moderns  "  are  superior  to  the 
"  ancients  "  by  comparing  the  gardens  of  Alcinous 
to  the  park  at  Versailles.  What  language,  indeed, 
could  nature  have  spoken  to  the  contemporaries  of 
Descartes  1  For  them  it  is  no  more  than  an  inert 
machine,  a  mere  system  of  springs  and  wheels.  Where 
the  modern  poet  listens  to  the  mysterious  pulsation 
of  universal  nature,  they  hear  but  the  dry,  monoto- 
nous ticking  of  a  clock.  They  never  abandon  them- 
selves to  nature ;  she  neither  agitates  nor  consoles, 
for  she  has  no  secrets  for  them.  Her  only  message 
is  conveyed  by  a  cold,  imposing  symbol  represent- 
ing that  sum  of  final  causes  which  unite  in  proving 
the  existence  of  God,  the  supreme  architect  and 
sovereign  ruler  of  the  world. 

This  is,  in  effect,  the  character  of  the  Classic 
God.  He  appeals  to  the  reason  ;  he  does  not  dwell 
in  the  heart.  The  seventeenth  century  is  Catholic  ; 
it  is  not  religious.  Piety  wears  an  official  stamp,  and 
religion  is  not  a  living  faith,  but  a  ceremonial.  It 
is  made  known  by  a  procession  of  imposing  figures 
which  produce  an  illusion;  its  representations  are 
conducted  with  impressive  dignity,  and  become  the 
most  august  institution  of  the  State.  Louis  XIV. 
commands  that  all  gentlemen  conversing  during 
Mass  be  reported  to  him.  He  even  charges  him- 
self with  selecting  spiritual  advisers  for  princesses 


1 6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

of  royal  blood,  and  sends  them  at  least  five  times 
a  year  to  confession.  This  zeal  is,  doubtless,  sin- 
cere, though  naturally  limited  to  observances  from 
which  all  real  religious  life  may  be  absent.  The 
king's  devotion  draws  about  him  a  great  number  of 
false  devotees.  La  Bruyere  tells  us  what  we  would 
become  under  an  atheist  prince.  The  aristocracy 
of  the  seventeenth  century  has,  in  reality,  so  little 
of  the  true  Christian  spirit  that  its  real  Christians 
are  forced  to  separate  from  it.  The  Protestants 
and  Jansenists,  for  whom  Christianity  is  an  active 
living  truth,  inherent  in  man,  are  persecuted  and 
hunted  down  by  the  official  church  and  secular 
power  alike.  Religion  is  given  up  to  Jesuitism, 
to  ingenious  compromises,  the  distinctions  of  sub- 
tle casuistry,  —  in  fact,  to  all  the  relaxations  of  an 
accommodating  morality.  The  worldly  society  of 
the  epoch  conceives  God  only  as  an  abstraction. 
So  also  is  he  quite  unknown  to  poetry.  Olym- 
pian divinities  are  substituted,  and,  as  if  in  supreme 
derision,  Boileau  enjoins  the  cult  of  pagan  my- 
thology in  the  name  of  Christian  faith.  There  is 
an  irrevocable  divorce  between  art  and  relisfion. 
So  effectual  is  it,  that  when  poets  rhyme  about  old 
age,  about  the  Psalms  or  the  Imitation  de  Jesus- 
Christy  many  consider  it  but  a  penitence  of  form. 
There  is  no  sincere  inspiration  ;  indeed,  the  con- 
science can  be  cleared  by  empty  paraphrases.  Cor- 
neille  wrote  Polyeucte,  and  Racine  Athalie:  we 
know  that  the  "  Christianity  "  of  Polyeucte  greatly 
offended  the  beaux  esprits  of  the  times  ;  also  that 
Athalie,   which    met    with  a  complete  failure,    was 


Classicism.  17 

inspired  by  Hebraic  tradition.  Moreover,  the  God 
celebrated  by  it,  is  a  God  of  vengeance,  whose  cold, 
jealous  majesty  oppresses  the  faith  of  those  who 
adore  him. 

Abstract  reason  reigns  throughout  all  spheres  of 
moral  and  intellectual  activity.  Philosophers  at- 
tempt to  prove  existence  by  reason.  Thought  re- 
duces feeling  to  silence.  Cartesian  rationalism 
being  the  natural  expression  of  contemporary  society, 
it  as  far  as  possible  suppresses  all  demonstra- 
tions of  affection,  considering  such  as  mere  con- 
tingent realities.  It  holds  in  defiance  everything 
that  confuses  the  judgment.  In  the  senses  it  sees 
but  the  medium  of  error;  in  the  imagination,  but  a 
deceptive  phantasmagoria.  There  is  no  firm  basis  to 
be  found  except  in  that  impersonal  reason  which  has 
no  surprises  in  store  for  us,  and  is  everywhere  the 
same,  —  that  reason  which  attains  truth  without 
passing  through  doubtful  and  illusive  phases.  This 
rationalism  tyrannizes  over  all  the  literature  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  In  oratory,  it  is  manifested 
by  a  regular,  methodical  style  ;  arguments  succeed 
each  other  by  insensible  gradations ;  the  careful 
arrangement  of  contiguous  propositions  announce 
and  lead  up  to  one  another,  without  omitting  or 
transposing  one  ring  of  the  chain.  Even  poetry 
prohibits  fancy  and  chance  inspirations.  Boileau 
desires  the  poet  to  find  in  reason  all  the  glory  and 
distinction  of  his  productions.  Love  reason,  please 
by  reason  alone,  —  these  are  the  maxims  he  con- 
stantly repeats.  He  considers  "good  sense"  the 
supreme    end  and  only  aim  of  poetry.       It  is    not 


1 8  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

enough  that  everything  should  begin  with  it ;  all 
things  must  also  tend  towards  it.  This  reason, 
upon  which  Racine  congratulates  Corneille  for 
having  been  the  first  to  place  on  the  stage,  upon 
which  Voltaire  will,  in  turn,  commend  Bourdaloue 
for  having  been  the  first  to  preach  from  the  pulpit, 
Perrault  carries  into  fairy  tales,  and  is  also  exacted 
by  Boileau  from  the  chanson. 

Man  has  become  solely  a  creature  of  pure  intel- 
ligence, and  so  appears  to  us  in  all  the  works  of 
the  times.  Exterior  forms  are  effaced.  Novelists 
and  tragic  poets  have  not  painted  beings  of  flesh 
and  blood,  but  moral  conditions.  Characters  seem 
to  have  no  bodies.  If  by  chance  we  are  permitted 
a  glimpse  of  some  trait  attaching  them  to  life,  it  is 
so  idealized  that  it  gives  us  no  material  impression. 
Man  is  divested  of  all  individuality  in  order  to  give 
place  to  more  general  elements.  There  are  no  por- 
traits, only  types.  We  do  not  find  a  miser,  but  the 
miser,  or,  rather,  avarice.  Everything  that  determines 
character  is  banished  from  time  and  place.  Racine 
observes  that  good  sense  and  reason  are  the  same 
in  all  ages.  What  is  the  result  of  this  generaliza- 
tion }  Heroes  can  be  transported  from  epoch  to 
epoch,  from  country  to  country,  without  causing 
surprise.  Their  Achilles  is  no  more  a  Greek  than 
is  Porus  an  Indian  ;  Andromache  feels  and  talks  like 
a  seventeenth-century  princess  ;  Phaedra  experiences 
the  remorse  of  a  Christian. 

Being  entirely  dogmatical,  literary  criticism  does 
not  seek  the  man  beneath  the  author.  It  examines 
a  work  for  the  purpose  of  comparing  it  with  certain 


Classicism.  1 9 

rational  principles,  according  to  which  it  is  judged. 
It  takes  into  consideration  neither  conditions  nor 
antecedents.  In  fact,  it  is  a  species  of  geometry. 
History  defaces  the  local  color  of  past  ages,  ignores 
as  far  as  possible  all  the  characteristic  details  that 
indicate  time  and  place,  all  that  pertains  to  circum- 
stances, milieu,  and  costume  ;  it  represents  Clovis  as 
a  prototype  of  Louis  XIV.  "  Contingencies  "  are 
unworthy  of  pure  minds,  which  stoop  to  no  curi- 
osity as  regards  facts,  nor  interest  in  the  sciences 
that  concern  them.  They  dedicate  themselves  to 
ideas  only,  and,  scorning  all  that  is  variable  or  acci- 
dental, seek  to  attain  truth  in  its  constant,  general 
form.  Their  method  is  abstract,  having  idealiza- 
tion for  its  principle. 

The  seventeenth  century  believes  all  cjuestions 
to  have  been  settled,  whether  in  respect  to  the 
social  world  or  in  art  and  poetry.  Catholicism 
unites  all  minds  in  a  common  faith,  securely  based 
upon  established  dogmas;  nor  is  there  sufficient 
energy  among  any  of  them  to  provoke  personal, 
spontaneous  activity.  The  era  of  civil  wars  saw 
the  last  of  excited  discussions  concerning  the  prin- 
ciples of  society  and  government.  Royalty  has  its 
dogmas  as  well  as  religion.  From  the  very  begin- 
ning, the  history  of  France  appears  to  be  destined 
for  that  supreme  monarchy,  to  which  end  Clovis, 
Philippe-Auguste,  Saint  Louis,  and  their  heir,  Louis 
XIV.,  collaborated.  The  uncertain  aspirations  of 
democracy  had  formerly  been  smothered  by  the 
Ligue  ;  the  defeat  of  the  Fronde  had  put  an  end 
to  the  untimely  demands  of  parliamentary  bourgeois 


20  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

and  the  retrospective  desires  of  the  nobility.    The 
first  seems  quite  content  with  its  role  in  political 
councils  and  judiciary  companies ;  the  second,  cast- 
ing aside  all  dreams  of  an   independent  existence, 
has    no   other    ambition    than   that   of    serving  the 
king,  either  by  commanding  his  armies  or  adorning 
his  court  with  its  presence.     The  whole  nation  is 
confident   that    its   destiny  is   being   accomplished. 
It    is    personified   in  the   king,   who  is  granted  all 
the  more  because  it  recognizes  itself  in  him.     The 
monarchy  quietly  perfects   the  unity  of  France  to 
its  own  advantage,  attracting  to  itself  all  the  active 
energies  of  the  kingdom,  unanimous  in  its  glorifica- 
tion.    In    philosophy,  we    find    the   same   unruffled 
possession  of  a  truth  above  all  attack.     Descartes' 
doubt  is  but  an  artifice  of  his  method  ;  he  believes 
himself  free  from  all   beliefs,  but  he  has  really  laid 
them  away  until  he  finds  a  principle  upon  which  he 
can  establish  them.      In  letters,  all  have  appreciation 
of  definite  perfection.     Language  henceforth  seems 
to    have     nothing    to   lose    and    nothing    to    gain. 
The  rules  of  good  taste  are  settled  beyond  doubt. 
Boileau's   Art  poetique  resembles  a  brazen   tablet, 
upon  which  the  recognized  representative  of  Classic 
discipline  engraves  unchangeable  laws  for  all  time. 
The  ode  will  ever  represent  that  disorder  which  is 
but    the    effect  of  scholarly  art ;    the  epopee    will 
always     "be    supported    by    the     fable;"    tragedy 
will   eternally  produce  those  ideal  personages  who 
repeat  harmonious  harangues  in  symmetrical  alex- 
andrines.    On  every  side  faith  is  the  characteristic 
mark    of    the    epoch.     Wherever   the    mind    turns. 


Classicism.  21 

whether  to  religion,  philosophy,  politics,  morality, 
or  art,  it  experiences  neither  trouble  nor  hesitation. 
It  at  once  reaches  certainty,  and  establishes  itself 
there  with  unshaken  confidence.  All  the  instincts 
of  the  seventeenth  century  bear  it  towards  a  tri- 
umphant optimism  whose  legitimacy  is  demonstrated 
by  reason. 


2  2  Literary  Moverneiit  in  Fi'ance. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  PRECURSORS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

THE  most  fertile  and  brilliant  period  of  Classi- 
cism occurred  during  the  reign  of  Louis 
XIV.  Although  the  following  century  at  once 
presents  certain  indications  of  a  renovation  more  or 
less  near  at  hand,  its  literary  doctrine  remains  that 
of  the  great  minds  of  the  preceding  age.  The 
moral  condition  of  society  had  been  sensibly  modi- 
fied ;  in  proportion  as  the  seventeenth  century  is  an 
epoch  of  confidence  and  tranquillity,  is  the  eigh- 
teenth one  of  impatience  and  aggressiveness.  Not- 
withstanding the  fact  that  the  harmony  between  the 
general  spirit  and  social  forms  of  the  former  age 
now  no  longer  exists,  this  order  remains  intact. 
Reaction  is  very  often  provoked  by  a  rigid  applica- 
tion of  social  laws.  Those  men  of  letters,  to  whom 
the  significant  name  of  philosophers  has  been 
given,  are  solely  occupied  in  combating  these 
abuses.  The  basis  of  monarchical  society,  how- 
ever, remains  exempt  from  attack.  Contemporary 
manners  are  only  altered  by  a  natural  advance 
toward  refinement.  Of  all  those  institutions  upon 
which  the  seventeenth  century  rests  so  securely,  art 
and  letters  appear  to  be  the  most  solidly  based,  for 
penetrating   scepticism    or  irreverent    raillery  dare 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        23 

attack  neither ;  to  speak  evil  of  "  Nicholas  "  brings 
ill  luck.  The  purely  literary  works  of  the  epoch  all 
bear  the  imprint  of  the  Classic  dogmas  perpet- 
uated by  its  monuments.  Voltaire,  who  prolonged 
the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  to  his  own  times,  finds 
acceptance  for  his  Merope.  Merope  clearly  belongs 
to  the  school  of  Andromaque,  just  as  the  artificial 
lyricism  of  such  as  Rousseau  and  Pompignan  finds 
its  source  in  the  theories  of  Boileau's  Art poctiqite. 

Not  before  the  close  of  the  century  do  we  find 
the  precursors  from  whom  our  contemporary  litera- 
ture can  be  traced. 

But  three  seem  to  merit  this  name.  The  first 
makes  the  voice  of  nature  heard.  Opposing  the 
intuitions  of  sentiment  to  cold  analysis,  he  dis- 
covers new  sources  of  poetry  in  the  heart  and 
imagination.  The  second,  on  account  of  his  scien- 
tific turn  of  mind,  preference  for  experimental 
methods,  and  love  of  material  reality,  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  leader  of  that  school  which,  after 
uniting  with  Romanticism  against  scholastic  con- 
ventionalities, during  the  second  half  of  the  century 
finally  separated  from  it,  in  order  to  substitute 
document  for  fiction,  subjects  for  heroes,  and  the 
exact  processes  of  science  for  imaginative  dreams. 
The  third,  a  simple,  earnest,  exquisitely  refined  poet, 
who,  though  belonging  to  the  eighteenth  century  in 
all  his  ideas,  also  announces  from  afar  the  coming  of 
a  new  art.  He  prefigures  this  art  by  his  adoration 
for  plastic  beauty,  conscientious  solicitude  for  form, 
and  even  by  the  elegiac  and  lyrical  accents  which 
caused  the  Romanticists  to  recognize  him  as  their 


24  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

youthful  ancestor  thirty  years  later,  when  his  verses 
were  published.  All  that  indicates  the  renovation 
which  is  being  prepared,  is  to  be  found  in  these 
three  writers.  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  Diderot,  and 
Andre  Chenier  have  all  in  different  directions  been 
initiators  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Jean-Jacques'  life,  as  well  as  everything  in  his 
works,  shows  his  unconscious  or  systematic  antag- 
onism to  the  ideas,  manners,  and  institutions  of  his 
time.  This  son  of  a  Genovese  mechanic,  nour- 
ished in  the  cult  of  republican  virtues,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  history  of  his  own  country  also  absorbs 
the  lessons  of  Plutarch,  his  first  master.  He  is 
before  all  else  a  democrat  in  that  exclusively  aristo- 
cratic society,  to  which  he  reveals  himself  by  viru- 
lent anathemas  against  the  brilliant,  artificial  culture 
glorified  by  it.  He  knows  neither  how  to  talk  nor 
how  to  conduct  himself.  Ignorant  of  the  customs 
of  society,  he  boasts  of  his  scorn  for  its  conventions. 
He  possesses  all  the  defects  of  a  vulgar  education, 
—  the  mania  for  singularizing  himself,  the  passion 
for  leading  others,  also  the  tactless  habit  of  shout- 
ing among  people  who  understand  by  suggestion. 
His  verb  is  caustic,  and  his  attitude  challenges  oppo- 
sition. He  exclaims,  apostrophizes,  is  at  once  timid 
and  brutal,  abashed  and  cynical.  His  eloquence  is 
never  without  certain  crudities  and  vulgar  provin- 
cialisms. He  casts  a  stain  upon  contemporary 
society  by  his  sullen  misanthropy,  also  by  a  certain 
expansive  cordiality  in  which  we  recognize  the  son 
of  the  people.  To  the  elegant  manceuvres  of  worldly 
gallantry  he  opposes  love  with  its  grosser  in^incts,  as 


Precursors  of  the  Nmeteenth  Century.        25 

well  as  in  its  transports  of  exalted,  mystical  passion. 
Surrounded  by  all  the  refinements  of  social  life,  he 
extols  primitive  existence.  He  rings  out  the  ple- 
beian words  of  virtue,  duty,  conscience  among  people 
whose  only  moral  guide  is  conventional  honor.  In  a 
world  from  which  a  purely  exterior  life  and  the  most 
abusive  exercise  of  the  critical  spirit  have  drained 
all  sentiment,  he  preaches  a  philosophy  whose  first 
maxim  is  to  re-enter  self  in  order  to  listen  to  the 
soul's  voice,  to  all  purposes  stifled  by  the  tumult 
from  without. 

To  re-enter  self  was  Rousseau's  first  messas^e 
to  his  age,  and  this  is  the  burden  of  his  entire 
work.  He  has  listened  only  to  his  own  heart, 
throwino^  his  whole  beinor  into  his  works.  He  has 
brought  about  the  advent  of  that  ego^  destined 
to  reign  undividedly  during  the  Romantic  period. 
This  he  effected  by  breaking  away  both  from  the 
rationalistic  philosophy  increasingly  shrivelled  in 
its  process  of  refinement,  and  from  the  proprieties 
of  a  superficial  politeness,  powerless  to  mask  the 
exhaustion  of  moral  activity.  Those  of  his  works 
which  have  exercised  the  greatest  influence  over  our 
literature  are  exactly  those  of  which  this  ego  is  the 
subject.  He  begins  with  the  romance  of  Julie  and 
Saint-Preux,  dreamed  of  before  written,  and  ends  by 
his  Confessions,  in  which  he  aims  to  make  known  his 
"  interior,"  —  that  is,  all  that  is  most  personal  in  his 
nature.  He  relates  not  only  the  history  of  his  life, 
but  "  that  of  his  soul."  The  ego  is  his  sole  sphere. 
Rousseau  has  inflamed  the  whole  century  with  his 
passions,  captivated  it   by  his  dreams,  convulsed  it 


26  Literary  Movement  m  Fra?ice. 

by  his  frenzies.  Absorbed  in  his  own  personality, 
he  has  never  issued  from  himself  but  to  discover  self 
without.  While  contemporary  philosophers  address 
reason,  he  appeals  to  sensibility.  He  even  enkindles 
logic.  Others  illumine  the  world  by  their  ideas  ; 
Rousseau  sets  fire  to  it  by  his  passions. 

If  the  common  fate  of  humanity  is  to  feel  before 
thinking,  he  experienced  this  more  than  others  have 
done.  "  I  had  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  all  senti- 
ments  before  they  were  known  to  me,"  he  has  said. 
We  can  readily  believe  that  thought  was  a  painful 
occupation  devoid  of  charm  for  him.  He  lived  by 
sentiment,  and  by  its  means  accomplished  his  entire 
work,  renewing  the  soul  of  his  generation.  Reason 
had,  so  to  speak,  sterilized  man  by  analysis.  Hold- 
ing sensibility  in  defiance,  it  saw  in  imagination 
only  an  aged,  foolish  virgin,  whose  very  charms  were 
doubtful.  Rousseau  protested  against  the  abuse  of 
analysis,  placing  the  philosophy  of  the  heart  in 
opposition  to  that  of  reason.  To  him  reason  seems 
without  principles,  and  the  understanding  without 
rules;  indeed,  reason  and  understanding  give  man 
no  other  superiority  over  animals  than  the  melan- 
choly privilege  of  wandering  from  error  to  error. 
Our  strength  and  certitude  do  not  arise  in  judg- 
ment, but  from  that  moral  conscience  whose  actions 
are  sentiments,  and  which  never  deceives  those  who 
follow  its  guidance.  From  it  Jean-Jacques  recovers 
virtue,  and  upon  it  founds  free-will  and  natural 
law.  While  Descartes  made  an  exclusively  intel- 
lectual illumination  of  evidence,  Jean-Jacques  trans- 
ports   the    light    of    intelligence     into    sensibility. 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century, 


~i 


Compliance  of  mind  seems  cold  to  him  ;  the  attach- 
ment of  the  heart  is  necessary.  Truth  must  not  be 
conceived,  but  felt. 

Sensibility  is  his  only  guide  in  conduct.  All 
those  ardent  pages  of  his  work  which  impassioned 
his  century  were  inspired  by  it.  Through  it  he 
makes  his  age  "  remount  to  love."  By  its  means 
he  also  discovers  the  poetry  of  nature,  which  does 
not  live  by  descriptions  or  artificial  allegories,  but 
by  direct  impressions  and  spontaneous  emotions. 
Finally,  by  its  aid,  he  revives  Christian  spiritualism ; 
not  in  a  scholastic  treatise,  but  by  a  profession  of 
faith ;  not  by  opposing  an  array  of  arguments  to  the 
dry,  cold  irony  of  incredulity,  but  by  the  emotional 
testimony  of  the  heart,  by  worshipping  the  God 
disputed  by  the  analysis  of  philosophers. 

All  his  weakness  can  be  attributed  to  this  pre- 
dominance of  sensibility.  Hence  his  lack  of  equi- 
librium and  constancy,  also  the  extravagances  of  a 
hazardous  and  disconnected  existence  which  never 
succeeded  in  fixing  itself.  With  him  there  was  no 
mean  condition,  no  stability ;  he  oscillates  from  one 
state  to  another,  without  pausing  between  them  ;  his 
agitated  spirit  "  but  passes  over  the  line  of  repose." 
Education  had  further  quickened  his  natural  irri- 
tability. From  six  years  of  age  he  had  been  nour- 
ished with  romantic  literature,  receiving  from  it 
impressions  of  human  life  which  neither  experi- 
ence nor  reflection  ever  eradicated.  He  has  always 
lived  in  an  imaginary  world,  whose  phantoms  never 
cease  to  haunt  him.  Unhappy,  he  exaggerated  his 
sufferings ;   happy,  he  "  grew  weary  of  well-being." 


28  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Rousseau's  genius  implies  an  abnormal  condition. 
"  Rousseau,"  says  Hume,  "  is  like  a  man  who  is 
stripped  not  only  of  his  clothes,  but  of  his  skin,  and 
turned  out  in  that  situation  to  combat  with  the  rude 
and  boisterous  elements,  such  as  perpetually  disturb 
this  lower  world."  Always  restless,  always  discon- 
tented with  everything  and  with  himself,  tormented 
by  aimless  desires,  a  prey  to  devouring  inactivity,  — 
sensibility  and  imagination  finally  dissipated  his  char- 
acter. His  incurable  passivity  makes  him  the  play- 
thing of  impressions,  against  which  he  is  powerless 
to  react.  He  wishes,  without  knowing  how  to  will ; 
he  dreams  without  the  energy  to  accomplish.  In  his 
ardent  but  feeble  nature,  as  prompt  to  discourage- 
ment as  to  enthusiasm,  fed  upon  fancies  and  unfit 
for  the  realities  of  life,  we  recognize  that  evil  which 
the  Romanticists  will  come  to  call  "  the  malady  of  the 
century."  Saint-Preux  was  its  first  poetical  incarna- 
tion, and  Rousseau  himself  its  first  victim. 

This  faculty  of  feeling,  which  was  the  source  of 
his  errors  and  miseries,  was  also  the  communicative 
power  of  his  genius.  To  it  he  owes  his  captivating 
and  contagious  eloquence,  which  suddenly  conjures 
up  the  latent  virtues  of  passion  as  if  by  magic. 
During  the  seventeenth  century  love  had  been  a 
fashionable  interchange  of  minds,  a  theme  for  elegant 
conversation,  a  ceremonious  suit,  in  which  the  heart 
and  senses  had  no  part.  The  eighteenth  century  had 
made  it  either  cold  libertinage  or  subtle  gallantry ;  on 
one  side  the  obscenities  of  Crcbillonyf/j,  on  the  other 
the  finical  pretensions  of  Marivaux.  Jean-Jacques 
revived  and   regenerated  love,  which   was  about  to 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        29 

die  of  inanition.  He  introduced  a  natural  sen- 
suality in  place  of  refined  depravation,  and  moral 
exaltation  for  the  affectations  of  sentiment.  He 
brought  back  its  passionate  gravity,  fervent  enthu- 
siasm, ardent  devotion.  When  he  named  his  hero- 
ine the  New  Heloi'se,  it  was  because  it  was  necessary 
to  remount  as  far  through  the  ages  as  the  Heloi'se 
of  Abelard  to  recover  the  true  love  which  inebriated 
both  himself  and  his  Julie.  In  a  famous  letter  Julie 
savs  that  Saint-Preux  srave  her  a  soul-racking  kiss 
under  a  green  arbor;  this  soul-racking  kiss  was 
an  inexhaustible  theme  of  raillery  to  Voltaire,  and 
marked  a  revolution  in  all  that  relates  to  the  heart. 
The  keen  irony  of  "  philosophers  "  and  the  affected 
disgust  of  beaux  esprits  availed  nothing  against  that 
irresistible  force  of  passion,  whose  tempests  vivi- 
fied the  artificial  atmosphere  of  contemporary  life. 
Saint-Preux  winning  the  love  of  his  pupil,  repre- 
sents nothing  less  than  the  plebeian  Jean-Jacques 
summoning  back  to  love  that  cortege  of  fine  ladies 
whose  hearts  he  trained  after  him. 

This  love  could  have  neither  elegant  boudoirs 
nor  the  severely  trimmed  foliage  of  parks  for  its 
setting,  like  the  vain  badinage  of  gallantry.  It  must 
have  magnificent  and  imposing  sites  to  harmonize 
with  the  sentiments  of  its  heroes.  Julie  and  Saint- 
Preux  love  each  other  at  Clarens,  in  a  country  of 
torrents  and  pine-trees,  at  the  foot  of  mountains 
whose  balmy  breezes  intensify  both  heart  and 
senses.  Jean-Jacques  reveals  to  his  century  the 
poetry  of  passion  together  with  that  of  nature. 
"  Nature,"  he  says,  "  was  dead  to  the  eyes  of  man." 


30  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

While  the  descriptive  poets  of  the  times  made  it  a 
refined,  lifeless   dissection,  he    gave    it    a    soul   by 
lending  it  his  own.     He  associated  it  with  his  joys 
and    sufferings,   his    hopes  and  regrets.      For   him 
nature  was  a  confidante,  often  a  comforter ;  he  was 
the   interpreter  of   its  mysteries,  the   singer    of  its 
harmonies.    Rousseau  becomes  intoxicated  by  great 
Alpine  scenes,  but  a  smiling  landscape  or  a  field 
blossom  suffices  to  move  him.     He  loves  nature  in 
its  intimate  familiarities  as  well  as  in  its  wild  hor- 
rors and  imposing  magnificence ;    it  has   no  voice 
so    humble    that    it    cannot    reach    his   heart.     He 
felt  its  captivating  charm  during  the  early  years  of 
his  impressionable  childhood  ;  at   Bossey  he   never 
grew  weary  of  its  delights,  and  shouted  joyously  on 
discovering  the  germs   of  the  seeds  he  had  sown. 
Lodged   in  a  room  at  Annecy  where  he  can  see  a 
corner  of  the  landscape,  he  is  thoroughly  happy  in 
having  his  window  open  upon  the  fresh  green,  and 
considers  this  pleasing  outlook  another  of  his  dear 
patroness's  favors.     All  his  life  he  remained  more 
sensible   to  the  charms  of   the  country  than  to  the 
brilliant  spectacles  of  an  artificial   world  for  which 
he  felt  he  was  not  born.     One  of  the  sweetest  recol- 
lections of  his  youth  is  of  having  passed  a  night  on 
the   banks  of   the   Saone,  beneath  the  recess   of  a 
terrace,  with  the  tree-tops  for  the   hangings  of  his 
bed  and  the  song  of  the  nightingale  to  lull  him  to 
sleep.     He   "  wrote  in  his  mind  "  in   the   midst  of 
rocks  and  woods.     At  the    Hermitage  he  has  the 
forests   for  his  study,  yet  he  is  never  happier  than 
when  he  can  escape  the  trouble  of  thinking.     Noth- 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Cenii(,ry.        31 

ing  charms  him  so  much  as  that  "  rapture  of  re  very," 
to  which  calm  solitude  and  the  thousand  voices  of 
nature  gently  incline  him.  He  loves  what  he  calls 
his  ramblings,  —  that  confused  life  in  which  he  half 
loses  self-consciousness,  as  if  his  being  passed  into 
surrounding  objects.  Seated  on  the  shores  of  a 
lake,  the  noise  of  the  waves  and  the  movement  of  its 
waters  captivate  his  senses,  and,  driving  every  other 
agitation  from  his  soul,  plunge  him,  little  by  little, 
into  a  delight  from  which  night  surprises  him  with- 
out his  having  perceived  its  approach.  Stretched 
on  his  back  in  a  boat,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
sky,  he  lets  his  fancies,  as  well  as  his  bark,  drift  at 
will  with  the  current.  Rousseau  taught  his  contem- 
poraries the  secret  of  that  revery,  unknown  to  the 
robust  reason  of  the  seventeenth  century,  which  the 
cold  lucidity  of  the  philosophers  and  algebraists 
of  the  time  thought  but  incoherent  wanderings. 
With  him  it  enters  into  our  literature,  is  inoculated 
into  French  genius,  opens  to  poetry  the  twilight 
recesses  of  the  soul,  —  that  world  of  obscure 
movements,  confused  and  veiled  sentiments,  vague 
melancholy,  ineffable,  intoxicating  delights,  of  which 
the  Romanticists  will  sing. 

Rousseau's  love  of  nature  and  inclination  to 
revery  are  united  with  a  taste  for  reality  and  fa- 
miliar domestic  life.  He  finds  pleasure  in  every- 
thing connected  with  the  fi.elds,  the  care  of  a  farm 
and  pigeon  house,  where  he  passes  hours  at  a  time 
"  never,  for  a  moment,  growing  weary  ;  "  also  in  bee- 
hives, whose  little  inhabitants  he  tames  after  several 
stings.      He  interests   himself  not   only  in  garden 


2,2  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

flowers,  but  also  in  vegetables.  We  sometimes  find 
him  perched  up  in  a  tree,  girdled  by  a  bag  which  he 
fills  with  fruit  and  lets  down  by  a  cord.  He  always 
travels  on  foot  in  his  youth,  knowing  no  greater 
enjoyment  than  to  wander  at  leisure  through  a 
beautiful  country  in  fine  weather.  When  he  be- 
comes old,  he  passes  ten  years  in  one  perpetual 
botanizing  expedition.  In  his  Confcssioiis  he  re- 
calls with  quite  a  sensuous  reminiscence  those 
frugal  repasts  of  milk  and  "grisses"^  which  had 
formerly  made  him  the  most  contented  of  gour- 
mands. He  cannot  even  pass  a  hamlet  in  company 
with  the  fine  world  and  smell  the  odor  of  an  omelette 
au  cerfctiil  without  flouting  the  red,  amber,  and 
flounces  of  courtly  life.  All  his  unwilling  efforts 
and  fitful  ambitious  projects  had  no  other  object 
than  to  at  length  attain  blissful  repose  in  a  little 
rustic  retreat,  the  asylum  of  that  simple,  modest, 
retired  felicity  for  which  he  longed.  "  The  sweet- 
est of  all  habits,"  he  says,  "  is  domestic  life."  The 
father  who  placed  his  children  in  an  almshouse,  the 
husband  of  an  uncultured  inn  servant,  first  his  mis- 
tress, had  at  bottom  a  sincere  feeling  for  the  gentle 
virtues  and  pure  affections  which  flourish  beneath 
the  paternal  roof  and  at  the  conjugal  fireside.  He 
taught  fathers  their  duties  by  laying  out  a  programme 
for  the  education  of  children.  He  animated  the 
sentiment  of  maternity  in  mothers,  and,  at  his  bid- 
ding, they  became  the  nurses  of  their  own  offspring, 
just  as  fathers  assumed  the  direction  of  their  educa- 

^  Grisses,  a  dialectic   expression    employed   in  Savoy  for   rolls  of 
crusty  bread  in  the  form  of  a  stick.  —  Tr. 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        33 

tion.  What  he  most  regrets  in  his  old  age  is  that  sim- 
ple, tranquil  life  which  he  might  have  passed  humbly 
in  his  native  city,  surrounded  by  family  and  friends. 
The  most  obscure  condition  would  have  satisfied 
his  ambition.  He  would  have  loved  and,  perhaps, 
been  an  honor  to  it.  Then,  after  having  lived  as  a 
worthy  Christian,  a  good  father,  and  an  honest 
workman,  he  would  have  died  peacefully  in  the 
arms  of  his  own. 

Despite  his  faults,  weakness,  even  errors,  Rous- 
seau was  the  eloquent,  convinced,  enthusiastic  in- 
terpreter of  moral  and  religious  sentiment  to  the 
eighteenth  century.  In  the  midst  of  a  society  ex- 
hausted by  pleasure,  withered  at  heart  by  the  abuse 
of  criticism,  perverted  by  a  worldly,  artificial  Catholi- 
cism, his  grave,  impassioned  voice  preached  the 
respect  and  cult  of  all  the  virtues  held  in  derision 
by  the  century.  Spiritual  renaissance  dates  from 
him.  The  philosophers  who  led  the  fashion 
boasted  of  their  atheism.  Rousseau  had  no  fear  of 
exposing  himself  to  their  sarcasm.  Indignant  with 
the  haughty  denials  which  he  once  heard  in  the 
salon  of  Mademoiselle  Quinault,  he  said,  "  Gentle- 
men, I  believe  in  God ;  one  word  more  and  I  leave 
this  place."  Voltaire  professed  deism  ;  it  was,  how- 
ever, but  a  purely  intellectual  deism.  Indeed,  he 
associated  with  atheists  only  for  the  purpose  of  scoff- 
ing at  what  is  purest  and  m.ost  deeply  human  in 
Christianity.  Rousseau  throws  all  his  heart  into  the 
Vicar  of  Savoy's  profession  of  faith.  He  not  only 
grasps  the  sentiment  of  the  great  truths  of  natural  re- 
ligion and  rekindles  them  by  his  fervent  eloquence, 

3 


34  Literary  Movement  in  Fraitce. 

but,  instead  of  ridiculing  Christ  and  the  Gospels, 
offers  a  brilliant  homage  to  both,  ranking  the 
one  above  all  men  and  the  other  above  all  books. 
He  does  not  accept  revelation,  yet  his  sympathies 
seem  to  incline  him  toward  Christianity,  even  when 
he  is  manifestly  at  variance  with  Christian  dogmas. 
Through  its  vain  formulas  and  vulgar  superflui- 
ties, he  recognizes  "  that  religion,  pure,  holy,  and 
eternal  like  its  author,  —  a  religion  which  men  have 
soiled  while  feigning  to  purify  it."  There  was  but 
little  difference  between  his  sentimental  Christian- 
ity and  that  upon  which  Chateaubriand  founded 
Romanticism  forty  years  later. 

In  connection  with  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  we 
must  consider  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  as  the 
disciple  who  most  effectually  transmitted  what  was 
most  refined  and  insinuating  in  the  literary  influence 
which  tlie  author  of  the  Nouvetle  Heldise,  Reveries, 
and  Confessions  exercised  over  our  century.  Ber- 
nardin was  a  Rousseau  of  tender  imagination.  We 
admire  Rousseau  for  his  breadth,  fulness,  and  bril- 
liancy of  style,  in  no  degree  monotonous,  but  even 
and  sustained,  though  lacking  in  nuances  "a^ridi  rejlets. 
Bernardin  is  less  vigorous,  but  more  flexible.  He 
enumerates  details  with  more  curiosity,  and  does 
not  recoil  from  the  most  familiar  technical  or 
rarely  used  terms  to  render  the  exact  shade  and 
impression  he  wishes  to  produce.  He  is  the  first 
of  all  our  landscape  painters  to  travel  beyond 
Europe.  Our  literature  gradually  becomes  richer 
through   new  discoveries  ;  after  the  Alps,  and  while 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        35 

waiting  for  the  prairies  and  virgin  forests  of 
America,  we  have  the  low  hills  of  the  Isle  de  France. 
Bernardin  seats  his  lovers  under  the  shadow  of 
cocoanut,  blossoming  banana,  and  lemon  trees,  at 
the  foot  of  cliffs,  on  the  shore ;  not  by  the  banks 
of  brooks,  on  the  prairies,  beneath  the  shade  of 
beech-trees.  His  originality  consists  rather  in  his 
manner  of  describing  than  in  the  subject  of  his 
pictures.  It  is  true,  he  is  often  feeble  and  monoto- 
nous, with  a  too  ready  sensibility  often  degener- 
ating into  sentimentalism,  and  an  exuberant,  injudi- 
cious optimism  not  always  without  insipidity.  It 
cannot,  however,  be  denied  that  his  descriptions  of 
nature  are  strongly  marked  by  a  caressing  charm, 
a  tender  emotional  quality,  a  suave  harmony,  and 
charm  of  style.  For  this  he  must  be  assigned  a 
place  of  his  own  between  scene-painters  such  as 
Jean-Jacques  and  Chateaubriand. 

Rousseau  and  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  announce 
the  advent  of  that  Christian  spiritualism  which  the 
latter  lived  long  enough  to  see  burst  into  full  renais- 
sance at  the  summons  of  a  bolder  and  more  vig- 
orous genius.  Diderot  may  be  called  the  chief 
of  the  Naturalistic  school.  Sense  of  reality,  of 
the  visible,  tangible  world,  and  exterior  nature  in 
the  effervescence  of  its  endless  phenomena  and  the 
fermentation  of  its  multiple,  ungovernable  life,  is, 
perhaps,  characteristic  of  him.  This  fumy,  rest- 
less spirit  overflows  with  incoherent  activity,  and 
unites  all  contrasts  and  all  contradictions.  By  view- 
ing the  century  in   its  ensemble,  it  can  be  divided 


36  Literary  Move^nent  in  France. 

into  two  parts  of  almost  equal  extent.  Rousseau, 
the  initiator  of  the  first  half  of  the  century,  is 
responsible  for  almost  all  of  Romanticism, — for 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand,  Lamartine, 
George  Sand,  the  heroes  of  the  novel  and  theatre, 
plaintive  idealism,  moral  exaltation,  the  malady  of 
revery.  Among  all  the  writers  of  the  preceding 
age,  Diderot,  long  forgotten  and  despised,  was 
recognized  as  the  leader  of  the  second  half  of  the 
century  by  those  who  inaugurated  the  inevitable 
reaction  against  Romanticism  about  forty  years  ago. 
By  a  filiation  more  or  less  direct,  all  the  Stendhals 
and  Balzacs  of  the  first  period  proceeded  from  him  ; 
and  all  those  of  the  second  period  who  directed  the 
universal  movement  of  our  contemporary  literature 
towards  the  exact  observation  and  earnest  notation  of 
ambient  realities,  also  originated  in  him.  Diderot's 
is  a  scientific  mind,  notably  predisposed  to  experi- 
mental sciences.  He  is  a  mathematician,  and  par- 
ticularly a  naturalist;  his  master,  however,  is  not  the 
geometrician,  Descartes,  but  the  physician.  Bacon,  to 
whom  he  has  more  than  once  rendered  abundant 
homage.  In  many  respects  his  philosophy  is  in 
sympathy  with  that  which  triumphed  during  the 
second  half  of  our  century.  This  enthusiastic 
preacher  sees  in  vice  and  virtue  but  the  products 
of  a  fatal  and  irresponsible  activity.  In  metaphys- 
ics he  is  a  simple  negateur ;  but,  by  that  contradic- 
tion occasionally  to  be  found  in  the  atheist  and 
materialist  of  our  times,  there  is  a  more  or  less  un- 
conscious corner  reserved  for  mysticism.  Whether 
in  respect  to  art  or  letters,  his  criticism  is  dominated 


Precursors  of  the  N ineteenth  Cenhiry.        37 


i 

Hy  reality  and  the  appreciation  of  life  in  all  its 
lorms.  There  is,  consequently,  an  absence  of  all 
narrow,  exclusive  systems,  a  liberality  of  mind, 
hearty  tolerance,  and  vivacity  of  sympathy,  which 
passes  directly  to  the  beautiful  without  obscuring 
defects.  We  find  these  same  ideas  in  the  theatrical 
reform  which  Diderot  undertook,  suggested  to  him 
by  his  predilection  for  a  real,  living  truth,  which 
the  conventionalities  of  our  stage  did  not  seem  to 
admit.  In  a  novel  written  at  the  outset  of  his 
career,  he  attacks  Classical  tragedy,  which  he  ac- 
cuses of  having  altered  and  falsified  nature.  Many 
years  later,  he  adds  to  this  already  quite  complete 
and  profound  criticism  his  personal  views  upon 
theatrical  art  and  works  composed  after  this  new 
formula.  These  productions  have  long  been  for- 
gotten. Diderot  had  the  "  reverse  of  the  dramatical 
talent ; "  he  transformed  all  his  personages  into 
himself.  To  this  great  fault  let  us  add  effusions 
of  declamatory  sentiment,  tirades  upon  virtue,  the 
mania  for  moralizing  at  random,  and  all  those  tear- 
ful, rhetorical  outbursts  which  relate  to  th?  author 
rather  than  to  his  theories.  Sedaine  will  prove 
in  time  to  come  that  the  Bourgeois  Drama  can  be 
natural  without  being  stupid,  touching  but  not  sen- 
timental, moral  but  not  pedantic.  Let  us  attempt 
to  discover  Diderot's  theatrical  aesthetics  from  his 
dramas,  in  order  to  learn  in  v.'hat  consists  this  return 
to  truth  and  nature  for  which  he  gave  the  signal. 

Comedy  and  tragedy  are  two  extremes.  Neither 
pain  nor  pleasure  occupies  the  place  our  dramatic 
poets  give  them  upon  the  stage ;  they  are  passing 


38  Literary  Moveme^it  in  l^T'ance. 

phases,  not  durable  conditions.  A  new  style  falling 
between  that  which  aims  to  make  us  weep  and  that 
which  purposes  to  make  us  laugh,  must  be  created. 
Tragi-comedy  had  attempted  to  conciliate  laughter 
with  tears,  but  it  seemed  to  have  no  unity.  But  the 
new  drama,  instead  of  making  us  laugh  and  cry  by 
turns  by  mingling  two  styles  separated  by  a  natural 
barrier,  would  aim  to  make  us  neither  laugh  nor  weep. 
Remaining  at  equal  distance  from  the  two  extremes, 
it  would  present  the  faithful  picture  of  existence 
under  the  name  of  Serious  Comedy.  That  Diderot 
had  invented  the  Serious  Comedy  did  not  prevent 
him  from  devising  what  he  called  Bourgeois  Trag- 
edy. If  his  theatre  gives  little  place  to  laughter,  full 
liberty  is  given  to  tears.  We  find  a  flagrant  con- 
tradiction between  his  theory  of  the  Serious  Comedy 
and  that  Bourgeois  Tragedy,  which,  like  high  tragedy, 
finds  its  subjects  in  the  misfortunes  and  catastrophes 
of  human  life.  However,  both  styles  are  inspired  by 
the  same  general  idea,  —  the  necessity  of  making  the 
theatre  resemble  nature.  Both,  likewise,  aim  at  mean 
truth,  —  the  one  in  passion,  the  other  in  events  and 
characters.  Classic  tragedy  had  always  represented 
princes,  whose  natures,  as  well  as  ages  and  countries, 
were  absolutely  unknown  to  us ;  and  these  altogether 
exceptional  characters  were  engaged  in  quite  extra- 
ordinary perils.  Diderot  wished  Bourgeois  Tragedy 
to  confine  itself  to  real,  contemporary  life,  draw  its 
subjects  from  actual  surroundings,  and  select  heroes 
of  simple  personality,  whose  misfortunes  will  make 
so  much  the  greater  impression  upon  spectators  that 
they  will  be  able  to  recognize  themselves  in  them. 


Precu7'so7's  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        39 

Not  without  reason  has  Diderot  been  reproached 
for  having  satiated  the  theatre  with  a  monotonous 
representation  of  virtue.  His  works  degenerate 
easily  into  "  berquinades :  "  ^  in  all  the  situations 
where  fortune  places  his  characters  we  would  have 
them  less  subject  to  the  fine  sentiments  so  super- 
abundantly found  in  his  Clairvilles  and  Dorvals.  All 
Diderot's  aesthetics  are  subordinated  to  those  moral 
preoccupations  which  make  a  schoolroom  of  the 
theatre.  The  idea  that  men  are  born  good,  and 
that  virtue  is  natural  to  them,  seems  to  be  pro- 
foundly implanted  in  his  nature.  This  fearless  and 
fervent  optimist,  whose  eye  is  always  glowing  with 
enthusiasm  and  moist  with  emotion,  sees  no  evil 
around  him ;  how  could  he,  then,  have  represented 
it  upon  the  stage  .'^  He  has  known  the  personages 
whom  he  introduces  into  his  work,  and,  without 
being  aware  of  it,  has  attributed  to  them,  as  to  the 
world,  his  own  qualities,  —  those  which  he  has,  and 
those  which  he  believes  his  own,  or  wishes  to  pos- 
sess. In  giving  so  preponderant  a  place  to  what 
he  calls  the  "  respectable,"  Diderot  does  not  wander 
from  the  conditions  of  reality,  at  least,  as  conceived 
by  him.  If  human  nature  is  good,  we  will  present 
a  false  picture  of  it  by  representing  vice,  which  is 
the  exception,  instead  of  virtue,  which  is  the  rule. 

This  real  life  which  the  Serious  Comedy  and  Bour- 
geois Tragedy  represent,  m.ust  not  be  rendered  by 
the  study  of  characters  which  have  been  exhausted, 
but  by  that  of  conditions  which  have  not  yet  been 

^  "  Berquinades,"  poems  in  the  idyllic,  bucolic  style  of  Berquin,  who 
lived  from  1749  to  1791.  —  Tr. 


40  L  iterary  Movement  in  France. 

placed  upon  the  stage.  In  character  studies  we 
force  the  dominant  character  by  so  doing,  sacri- 
ficino-  all  that  surrounds  it.  We  turn  the  animal 
around,  exercise  and  harass  it,  as  though  it  were  a 
trained  horse ;  we  watch  it  jump,  caracole,  but  we 
learn  nothing  of  its  natural  gait.  True  individuals 
are  not  found  in  the  theatre,  but  ideal  types  in  which 
we  discover  nothing  of  ourselves.  Rather  let  us 
substitute  different  "  conditions  "  of  characters,  — 
personages  we  shall  not  be  tempted  to  turn  into 
abstractions,  who,  after  setting  foot  upon  the  reality 
of  common  life,  cannot  fail  to  be  bound  by  its 
requirements. 

Whether  just  or  false,  the  reforms  Diderot  desig- 
nates or  employs,  purpose  to  represent  life  more 
exactly.  To  those  so  often  unnatural  coups  de 
theatre,  which  suddenly  change  the  position  of 
actors,  he  prefers  pictures,  —  that  is,  an  arrangement 
true  and  natural  enough  to  be  pleasing  upon  canvas 
were  it  faithfully  rendered  by  a  painter. 

He  demands  a  broad  stage,  permitting  actors 
more  liberty  of  movement  and  allowing  a  com- 
plexity or  dispersion  of  action  more  in  conformity 
with  nature.  He  regrets  the  "  cruel  proprieties 
which  render  works  both  decorous  and  trivial."  He 
repudiates  the  conventionalities  of  our  theatre, — 
here  its  harangues  and  confidences,  there  its  valets 
and  ban  mots.  He  wishes  certain  places  to  be  en- 
tirely abandoned  to  the  judgment  of  actors  :  a  man 
inspired  by  a  great  passion  does  not  express  himself 
by  a  regular,  connected  discourse,  but  by  cries,  inar- 
ticulate   words,   broken    sounds;  the  silence  of  an 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        41 

expressive  pantomime  is  at  once  natural  and  more 
affecting  than  eloquent  tirades.  It  must  not  be  in 
verse,  for  prose  only  is  in  harmony  with  the  char- 
acter of  the  drama  which  Diderot  wished  to  create. 
Real  scenery  and  costumes,  simple  action,  ordinary 
people,  events  drawn  from  every-day  life,  character- 
ize the  Bourgeois  Tragedy  as  he  conceived  it. 

We  find  the  same  preoccupation  for  scenic  reality 
in  a  writer  whose  name  we  must  associate  with  that 
of  Diderot.  Sebastien  Mercier  is  the  author  of  an 
Essai  sur  fart  dramatique,  in  which  he  takes  up 
the  ideas  of  his  predecessor,  accentuating  them  more 
strongly  and  completing  them  with  his  own  views. 
The  principle  from  which  Mercier  starts  out  is  that, 
"  if  the  theatre  is  an  illusion,  we  should  bring  it  as 
near  the  truth  as  possible."  Neither  of  our  Classic 
styles  finds  favor  with  him.  Comic  poets  alter  the 
natural  course  of  things,  overload  their  personages, 
exclude  mixed  characters,  condemn  uncertain  colors, 
and  sacrifice  nature  to  the  coarsest  purposes  for 
laughter. 

Tragedy  is  "  but  a  phantom  clothed  in  purple  and 
gold."  Being  restricted  to  ancient  subjects  which 
have  no  interest  for  the  real  public,  it  further  de- 
spoils them  by  introducing  modern  ideas  of  propriety. 
Pyrrhus  is  pictured  as  a  lover ;  Monima  appears  with 
gloves  and  a  basket;  Hippolytus  is  powdered.  The 
tragical  hero  is  in  no  sense  true ;  he  resembles  a 
"  lay-figure  whose  stiff  motions  seem  to  arise  from 
lifeless  springs."  Action  is  smothered  into  twenty- 
four  hours  and  a  narrow  space   thirty  feet  square. 


42  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

The  unities  reduce  it  to  a  forced  crisis  which  per- 
mits neither  actions  nor  personages  to  follow  out 
their  natural  developments.  Dramatic  art  is  still 
in  its  infancy ;  in  order  to  give  it  the  truth  and  in- 
terest which  it  lacks,  its  two  Classic  forms  must  be 
renounced,  —  both  the  gross  caricatures  of  the  one 
and  the  cold  idealizations  of  the  other.  They  must 
then  be  replaced  by  a  new  style,  which  will  repre- 
sent human  life  with  all  the  breadth  and  variety 
of  its  various  forms.  Is  it  not  evident  that  "  the 
soul's  two  emotions,  laughter  and  tears,  have,  in 
reality,  the  same  origin,  that  they  touch  and  fade 
into  each  other".?  Let  us  cease  to  say  the  public 
must  laugh  at  this  and  weep  at  that  work.  Be 
exact,  lifelike  painters,  giving  no  thought  to  cate- 
gories of  artificial  poetics.  With  all  their  vulgarity, 
better  the  Causes  Celedres  of  Gayot  cut  up  into 
scenes,  than  the  pompous  misfortunes,  bombastic 
sentiments,  and  conventional  language  of  three- 
fourths  of  our  trasfedies. 

The  new  drama  will  not  return  to  antiquity  for 
its  deeds  and  heroes,  only  to  pervert  them  at  pleas- 
ure. It  will  represent  contemporary  personages 
in  the  situations  of  ordinary  life,  sometimes  princes, 
but  more  often  the  bourgeois ;  the  most  famous  of 
Persian  or  Assyrian  monarchs  interest  us  less  than 
the  humblest  tradespeople.  It  will  have  all  the 
pathos  of  tragedy  in  its  stirring  scenes,  all  the  naive 
charm  of  comedy  in  its  pictures  of  manners.  Instead 
of  bowing  to  three  or  four  hundred  minds  who  give 
their  prejudices  the  name  of  good  taste,  it  will 
become  truly  popular  as  well  as  national.     It  will 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        43 

be  what  Greek  tragedy  was  for  the  ancients,  what 
mysteries  were  for  our  middle  ages ;  it  will  not 
address  select  audiences,  but  the  great  public,  — 
that  is,  the  whole  of  France.  It  will  as  unscrupu- 
lously break  away  from  all  "  proprieties  "  as  from  ar- 
bitrary rules  :  released  from  the  one,  it  will  represent 
life  sincerely  without  being  forced  to  polish  off  all 
rough  edges ;  freed  from  the  other,  it  will  enlarge 
limitations  of  time  and  space  in  order  to  make 
room  for  broad,  just  pictures  of  human  truth,  in 
place  of  factitious  abridgments. 

There  is  a  very  evident  similarity  between  Dide- 
rot's ideas  and  those  of  Mercier.  Appreciative  of 
all  that  is  exquisite  in  Classic  art  and  taste,  Diderot 
prosecutes  the  conventionalities  of  our  theatre  with 
more  judgment  than  the  barbarian  Mercier,  yet  he 
none  the  less  considers  tragedy  and  comedy  forms 
no  longer  suited  to  the  conditions  of  contemporary 
society.  He  admires  the  works  of  Racine,  for  the 
same  reason  as  those  of  Sophocles  and  Euripi- 
des, considering  them  masterpieces  of  a  dramatic 
system  that  has  lived  out  its  time.  Each  pro- 
poses his  new  formula :  Diderot's  S3^stem  relates 
particularly  to  Bourgeois  Tragedy,  the  masterpiece 
of  which  will  be  produced  by  Sedaine;  that  of 
Mercier  embraces  a  broader  field.  Indeed,  if  so 
inclined,  we  might  discover  in  it  the  germ  of  the 
Romantic  drama,  at  least  of  that  of  Alexandre 
Dumas.  However,  it  is  much  more  easily  adapted 
either  to  the  popular  melodrama,  in  which  field  it 
has  made  some  advance,  or  to  our  contemporary 
comedy,  the  first  example  of  which  Beaumarchais, 


44  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

the  disciple  of  Mercier  as  well  as  of  Diderot,  was 
soon  to  place  upon  the  stage. 

While  Diderot  and  Mercier  were  attempting  to 
reform  the  theatre,  and  Rousseau  and  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  were  opening  inexhaustible  sources  of 
inspiration,  poetry  was  becoming  more  insipid  and 
trivial  with  Saint-Lambert's  barren  descriptions 
and  Florian's  spiritless  pastorals.  Andre  Chenier 
became  the  regenerator  of  poetry.  Published 
nearly  thirty  years  after  his  death,  when  the 
literature  of  our  century  had  already  opened  up 
new  paths,  his  verses  were  received  by  the  leaders 
of  the  new  school  as  those  of  an  elder  brother. 
Proud  to  inscribe  on  their  ensign  the  name  of  the 
only  great  poet  France  had  produced  since  Racine, 
the  Romanticists  selected  him  for  their  master,  and 
sought  to  make  his  work  enter  into  the  current  of 
their  literature. 

In  constitution  of  mind  Andre  Chenier  belongs 
to  the  eighteenth  century.  His  philosophy,  that 
Naturalism  which  finds  its  monument  in  Hermes, 
is  that  of  Buffon  and  Diderot.  All  religious  senti- 
ment is  quite  foreign  to  him.  He  is  a  pagan  in 
times  when  there  is  no  fixed  belief.  If  "  the  infinite 
is  disclosed  to  his  eager  eye,"  it  is  but  an  infinite 
of  atoms. 

The  renaissance  of  the  new  century  would  have 
found  Chenier  rebellious  to  all  the  inspirations  of 
a  sentimental  Christianity.  Upon  this  point  the 
Romantic  school  could  have  found  no  more  irrecon- 
cilable   adversary ;    not    one    fibre    of  his    heart    is 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        45 
sensible  to  Christian  emotions.     Even  the  thoiioht 

O 

of  death  arouses  in  him  no  sentiment  of  piety ; 
neither  disquieting  revery,  nor  the  restless  presenti- 
ment of  an  after-life ;  none  but  the  quite  profane 
images  of  gentle,  smiling  peace,  pure  water,  shade 
and  flowers  for  its  shrines,  —  for  the  ashes  which  he 
places  with  Epicurean  serenity  in  the  hands  of  his 
friends.  Hermes  —  his  favorite  poem,  and  that  which 
occupies  him  from  the  age  of  twenty  —  could  be  but 
a  sort  of  enc5^clop3edia,  as  little  mystical  as  that  of 
Diderot.  Chenier's  religion  is  that  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  —  a  religion  consisting  in  the  faith  in  reason 
and  ideas  of  human  justice  and  progress  cherished  by 
contemporary  philosophy.  From  these  ideas  the  new 
century  broke  away  at  the  outset,  just  as  if  the 
Revolution,  of  which  it  saw  but  the  ruins,  had  been 
no  more  than  an  irreparable  bankruptcy. 

Love  holds  the  foremost  place  in  the  verse  of  this 
poet,  whose  short  life  closed  at  thirty.  With  Andre 
Chenier,  however,  love  has  nothing  in  common 
with  the  vapory  idealism  to  be  brought  into  vogue 
by  the  first  Romanticists;  to  him  it  represents  a 
purely  carnal  gratification.  Though  others  after 
Lamartine,  the  singer  of  all  that  is  most  exquisitely 
chaste  and  modest  in  tenderness,  will  bring  more  of 
the  fires  of  passion  to  love,  in  all  of  them,  even  in 
Musset's  grossest  revels,  there  is  a  conception  of 
immortality,  of  that  infinite  that  gives  no  rest  to 
brain  or  heart.  We  discover  nothing  of  this  in 
Andre  Chenier.  In  his  Camilles,  Roses,  Julies, — 
all  beauties  of  pagan  festivity,  like  those  celebrated 
by   his  forefathers,   Tibullus    and   Propertius,  —  he 


4.6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

personifies  that  Venus  without  whom  he  says  there 
is  nothinor  sweet  here  below.  For  him  love  relates 
to  the  senses  only :  it  is  sometimes  the  negligent, 
voluptuous  dance  of  Rose;  sometimes  the  sparkling 
laughter  of  Julie,  as  intimated  in  these  lines, 

"  Dans  une  bouche  dtroite  un  double  rang  d'ivoire, 
Et  sur  de  beaux  yeux  bleus  une  paupiere  noire." 

He  seeks  only  what  he  is  sure  of  finding,  a  self- 
sufficing  pleasure  anointed  with  perfumes  and 
crowned  with  flowers,  —  a  pleasure  in  which  there 
is  no  consciousness  of  void,  no  bitterness  of  after- 
taste, no  anxiety  of  the  beyond  either  to  trouble  or 
exasperate  full  enjoyment.  The  women  he  loves 
are  all  ketdires,  and  the  soul  never  enters  into  his 
purely  pagan  love  through  other  sentiments  than 
adoration  for  plastic  beauty. 

Under  its  different  forms  this  sentiment  inspires 
all  of  Andre  Chenier's  poetry.  Notwithstanding 
their  Christian  origin,  the  Romanticists  will  trans- 
form art  through  its  inspiration ;  Chateaubriand 
himself  is  but  a  "  pagan  of  Catholic  imagination." 
Through  the  author  of  the  Martyrs,  Andre  Chenier 
holds  out  his  hand,  if  not  to  Lamartine,  who  never 
appreciated  him,  at  least  to  Victor  Hugo;  to  Alfred 
de  Vigny,  who  began  by  imitating  him  ;  to  Sainte- 
Beuve,  who  openly  acknowledges  him  one  of  the 
masters  of  the  new  school ;  and,  finally,  to  all  the 
neo-Romanticists,  who,  with  Theophile  Gautier  at 
their  head,  glory  in  rendering  material  beauty  by 
virtue  of  words  and  rhythm. 

Chenier  is  an  artist.  No  one  since  the  poets  of 
the  seventeenth  century  had  lifted  the  cult  of  form 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        47 

so  high.  He  first  writes  in  prose:  by  discriminate 
reading  he  patiently  gathers  the  silk  and  gold  of 
which  his  verse  is  woven,  and,  one  by  one,  collects 
graceful  comparisons  and  fresh  metaphors  from 
Homer  and  Theocritus.  Like  the  Attic  bee,  he 
lights  upon  Anthology  as  upon  a  crown  of  flowers, 
pilfering  what  is  most  charming  and  delicate  in  the 
scholarly  poetry  of  alexandrines.  While  he  imitates 
he  invents,  sometimes  assimilating  a  thought  in  the 
pursuit  of  an  original  image,  sometimes  retaining 
words  to  constrain  their  meaning  in  new  directions. 
In  certain  of  his  works,  such  as  V Invention,  V Epttre 
a  Lebrun,  and  in  many  fragments  of  his  notes  where 
we  find  him  at  work,  he  has  revealed  the  secret  of 
this  ingenious  elaboration.  Even  throughout  what 
he  calls  the  distractions  and  aberrations  of  a  violent, 
impetuous  youth,  art  was  always  his  dominant  pre- 
occupation, and,  when  its  first  fires  subsided,  the 
"  holy  leisure  "  of  which  he  dreams  becomes  a  leisure 
sanctified  by  poetry.  In  his  commentary  upon 
Malherbe,  it  is  evident  how  deeply  he  interests 
himself  in  all  the  most  minute  and  subtile  secrets 
of  language  and  versification.  The  sympathy  of  the 
Romanticists  for  Andre  Chenier  is  the  more  clearly 
explained  by  the  fact  that  they  first  found  in  him 
the  methods  employed  by  them  to  redress  a  poetical 
instrument  whose  lax  chords  had  lost  all  sonority. 

Andre  retuned  the  lyre.  He  gave  life,  movement, 
variety,  rhythmical  expression  to  that  feeble,  mo- 
notonous alexandrine  transmitted  to  him  by  the 
poets  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Guided  by  the 
study  of  the  ancients  and  a  secret  instinct  for  bar- 


48  Literary  Movemenl  in  France. 

mony,  he  revived  the  old  hexameter  of  Ronsard  and 
the  Pleiade.  To  this  freely  overlapping  hexameter 
of  variable  caesural  pauses  and  a  rhythm  easily 
adapting  itself  to  all  shades  of  thought  and  inflec- 
tions of  feeling,  he  gave  more  force  and  flexibility. 
At  the  same  time  he  recovered  that  "  full,  large, 
lively  species  of  verse,  of  a  single  long  breath," 
quite  rare  with  the  old  school  even  with  Racine, 
and  from  which  Sainte-Beuve  liked  to  quote  numer- 
ous examples  among  the  poets  of  1830  in  order  to 
compare  them  with  their  precursor. 

Andre  Chenier's  language  was  not  less  novel  than 
his  versification,  and  inclined  in  the  direction  towards 
which  Romanticism  was  destined  to  lean.  The  au- 
thor of  Joseph  Delorme  notes  with  devout  care  that 
the  young  master's  coloring  methods,  as  well  as 
those  of  his  disciples,  hang  upon  two  points,  —  upon 
the  substitution  of  proper,  descriptive  terms  for 
metaphorical,  sentimental  expressions,  and  upon 
the  judicious  use  of  somewhat  vague,  veiled  epi- 
thets and  indefinite,  floating,  inexplicit  words,  al- 
lowing the  idea  to  be  divined  rather  than  grasped 
closely  and  specified.  We  also  find  many  traces  of 
"  nobility  "  of  style,  many  conventional  periphrases ; 
indeed,  he  even  uses  mythological  settings  for 
modern  subjects,  and  conceives  and  begins  long 
didactical  poems  in  the  style  of  Lemierre  and  Es- 
menard.  Just  as  much  can,  however,  be  asserted 
of  the  early  attempts  of  Alfred  de  Vigny  or  of  Victor 
Hugo.  These  relics  of  pseudo-Classicism  do  not 
prevent  him  from  being  considered  as  a  guide  and 
predecessor  by  the  coming  Romanticists. 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteefith  Century.        49 

Must  we,  then,  limit  the  poet's  relation  to  the 
innovators  of  1820  to  questions  of  exterior  form? 
As  has  been  remarked,  Andre  Chenier  belongs  to 
his  epoch  in  politics,  religion,  and  philosophy;  how- 
ever, if  nothing  in  his  mind  foreshadows  the  new 
century,  his  soul  and  poetic  spirit  seem  at  moments 
to  have  had  an  intuitive  perception  of  its  advent. 
We  first  discover  in  him  that  poetry  of  images,  the 
secret  of  which  had  been  lost  since  Ronsard. 
Nature  blooms  and  grows  radiant  in  his  verse :  the 
spring  makes  merry;  the  woods  vibrate;  the  silver- 
footed  brook  rolls  on  its  pure,  agile  stream.  He 
sings  of  the  Swiss  lakes;  of  Thun,  son  of  the 
torrents ;  of  bearded  mountains,  and  the  forests  and 
cities  that  hang  over  their  precipices.  In  a  gentler 
strain  he  celebrates  the  shores  where  Senart's 
shadows  thicken,  the  slopes  of  Luciennes  crowned 
with  grass  and  flowers,  the  balmy  routes  of  Ver- 
sailles and  its  silence,  fertile  in  gentle  dreams  and 
unwonted  raptures.  With  him  rocks,  mountains, 
wild  grottos,  melodious  valleys,  meadows  glistening 
with  dew,  suddenly  reappear  in  our  poetry.  This 
so  long  dry  and  sterile  vein  bursts  out  afresh  with 
the  new  energy  of  rich,  generous  blood.  The  poet 
wanders  with  tardy  footsteps  along  the  slope  of 
hills,  or  seats  himself  in  silent,  thoughtful  ecstasy  to 
watch  the  reflection  of  roofs  and  foliage  in  the 
liquid  blue  of  the  river.  He  falls  into  a  sweet 
revery,  and  calls  up  the  beloved  troupe  of  immortal 
phantoms  that  dwell  in  his  memory,  turning  over 
the  leaves  of  his  heart  and  life  with  a  tenderness  in 
which  all  nature  seems  commingled.     Verses  crowd 

4 


50  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

in  throngs  about  him,  —  verses  as  modern  in  accent 
as  in  form,  penetrating  notes  which  will  be  taken 
up  thirty  years  later  by  the  young  poets  of 
Romanticism. 

Andre  Chenier  is  a  precursor  in  that  he  has  re- 
vived lyrical  poetry,  which,  for  more  than  two  cen- 
turies, had  degenerated  into  artificial  declamation 
or  gallant  badinage.  After  the  cold  cantatas  of 
Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau,  and  the  painted,  perfumed 
quatrains  then  in  fashion,  we  have  a  poet  who  is 
really  moved.  First,  he  renews  the  pastoral  by 
his  sincerity  of  feeling  as  well  as  the  vivid,  natural 
freshness  of  his  pictures  ;  then,  he  revives  the  elegy 
with  the  ardent  passion  that  fires  his  own  blood, 
the  cold  sighs  and  affected  languor  of  gallantry 
being  succeeded  by  cries  of  ecstatic  rapture  ;  finally, 
he  conceives  and  outlines  a  sort  of  encyclopaedical 
epopee,  —  not  a  species  of  descriptive  rhapsody  after 
the  mode  of  contemporary  versifiers,  but  a  poem  of 
lyrical  ardor,  in  which  his  Muse  will  become  the 
priestess  of  science  and  civilization. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  career  his  genius 
rises  still  higher.  The  purity  of  accent  with  which 
he  honors  Fanny  seems  to  presage  an  entirely  new 
inspiration,  —  a  conception  of  love  in  which  the  ideal 
will  find  place.  During  the  bloody  conflicts  of  the 
Revolution  he  places  his  art  at  the  service  of  great 
ideas  and  noble  sentiments,  first  celebrating  nascent 
liberty  with  enthusiasm,  then  stigmatizing  the  abuses 
committed  in  her  name.  His  pity  for  victims  dic- 
tates songs  of  exquisite  tenderness,  and  his  indig- 
nation  against    the    executioner   wrings    from    him 


Precursors  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.        51 

vengeful,  impassioned  iambes.  For  him  poetry  is 
not  what  it  was  for  his  contemporaries,  —  an  ele- 
gant, frivolous  diversion  ;  he  gives  it  not  only  the 
severe  gravity  of  an  accomplished  art,  but  the  re- 
ligion of  a  mystery.  He  represents  the  poet  a  prey 
to  ardent  transports,  his  hair  dishevelled,  his  eyes 
feverish ;  sometimes  isolating  himself  from  game, 
the  table,  and  friends  to  listen  in  silence  to  the  voice 
that  speaks  within  ;  sometimes  seeking  in  the  depths 
of  lonely  woods  wherewithal  to  calm  the  tempests 
of  his  brain  and  shake  off  the  god  that  oppresses 
him.  He  believes  genius  a  vast,  sublime,  inex- 
haustible source ;  from  his  consciousness  issue 
images  in  rapid  floods,  impetuous  expressions  of 
flame,  magical  words  in  which  the  whole  universe 
lives,  dies,  and  breathes. 

This  idea  of  poetry  and  the  poetical  vocation 
announces  a  new  era.  If  his  destiny  had  been  ful- 
filled, would  not  the  always  expanding  genius  of 
Andre  Chenier  have  surely  touched,  before  the 
close  of  the  century,  those  Romantic  shores  which 
he  but  dimly  perceived }  After  the  brilliant  flowers 
of  youth,  who  knows  what  might  have  been  the 
mature  fruit  which  experience  of  life  and  things  had 
already  turned  towards  ideal  aspirations.''  When  his 
head  fell  beneath  the  knife,  the  Muse,  perhaps  wish- 
ing to  atone  for  so  great  a  crime,  collected  what 
was  purest  in  the  soul  and  genius  of  Andre  Chenier, 
and,  when  better  days  began  to  dawn,  with  this 
divine  spark  kindled  inspiration  in  the  hearts  of 
young  poets,  who,  notwithstanding  his  precocious 
death,  recognized  in  him  their  precursor. 


52  Literary  Movemeiit,  in  France. 


CHAPTER    III. 

MADAME    DE    STAEL   AND    CHATEAUBRIAND. 

JEAN-JACQUES  ROUSSEAU,  Diderot,  and 
Andre  Chenier  are  each  in  different  ways  the 

initiators  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Madame 
de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand,  however,  preside  at 
its  opening.  Adverse  from  the  beginning,  they 
were  long  considered  as  representatives  of  rival 
doctrines ;  but,  notwithstanding  an  antagonism 
which  would  have  continued  to  the  end,  we  are 
forced  to  associate  their  names  as  those  of  the  two 
writers  who  founded  what  it  pleased  us  to  call 
Romanticism.  Modern  French  literature  begins 
with  them.  The  sentiments  which  inspire  it,  the 
ideas  which  nourish  it,  its  form  as  well  as  sub- 
stance, its  philosophy  and  art,  are  all  revived  under 
their  guidance.  The  one  pushes  her  always  more 
daring  survey  beyond  the  limits  of  her  own  genera- 
tion until  she  finally  discovers  the  entire  horizon  of 
the  dawning  century ;  the  other  at  once  takes 
possession  of  this  new  world,  and  triumphantly 
plants  the  standard  which  will  rally  around  it  all  the 
coming  generations. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  determine  what  Madame 
de  Stacl  has  gained  from  the  society  in  the  heart 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         53 

of  which  her  mind  was  formed.  Refusing  to  favor 
ancient  cults,  the  sceptical  eighteenth  century  had 
established  one  of  its  own,  —  that  of  humanity. 
Particularly  in  respect  to  religion  is  Madame  de 
Stael  in  touch  with  her  age,  —  with  her  a  char- 
acteristic feature,  because  of  her  afifirmative,  enter- 
prising nature.  What  she  grasps  with  all  her 
energy,  and  the  only  conception  not  submitted  to  a 
pitiless  analysis,  is  a  principle  of  activity,  —  inde- 
structible faith  in  human  reason,  liberty,  and  justice. 
While  Chateaubriand,  by  a  sudden  and  violent  con- 
version, turns  abruptly  against  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, and  anathematizes  all  its  ideas  and  traditions, 
Madame  de  Stael  gives  herself  up  to  the  great 
current  of  enthusiastic,  militant  philosophy  which 
eventually  bears  her  towards  a  new  ideal.  Her 
dominating  idea  is  belief  in  human  perfectibility, 
and  this  legacy  of  the  preceding  age  she  transmits 
to  us.  Hope  in  "  the  future  progress  of  our  race  " 
seems  to  her  "  the  most  religious  feeling  on  earth." 
It  is  her  nature  to  believe  and  act  according  to  her 
convictions.  While  Chateaubriand  was  publishing 
a  thoroughly  sceptical  and  pessimistical  Essat,  in 
which  humanity  eternally  revolves  in  a  circle  of 
like  errors  and  misfortunes,  Madame  de  Stael 
was  attempting  to  maintain  in  her  Litteratiire  the 
fact  that  there  is  inherent  in  society  an  irresistible 
force  working  towards  advancement.  This  progress, 
which  she  demonstrates  to  be  a  constant  forward 
march  through  history,  must  be  the  law  of  ages  to 
come,  as  it  has  been  that  of  the  past.  This  is  the 
highest   expression    of   the    philosophy    which    the 


54  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

eighteenth  century  bequeathed  to  Madame  de  Stael, 
and  upon  this  beHef  has  she  grounded  her  faith  in 
the  destiny  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Among  the  writers  who  aided  in  her  education, 
none  had  a  more  profound  influence  over  her  than 
Jean-Jacques  Rousseau.  Her  earliest  attempts  are 
but  reminiscences;  the  romantic  sentimentaHsm  of 
JuUe  has  colored  her  characters,  Adele  and  Mirza; 
and,  later  on,  Emile's  ideas  suggest  her  work, 
r Injinence  des  passions  S2ir  le  bonheur.  Her  Lettres 
sur  yea7i-Jacques  Rousseau  breathe  with  an  en- 
thusiasm which  figures  of  speech  can  with  dififi- 
culty  satisfy.  She  does  not,  however,  admire 
Rousseau  throughout.  Doubtless,  the  prophetess 
of  perfectibility  very  often  finds  herself  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  ideas  of  the  philosopher  who  saw 
in  primitive  conditions  the  golden  age  of  mankind. 
The  missionary  of  individual  liberty  cannot  adopt 
from  the  author  of  le  Contrat  social  political 
principles  implacably  resulting  in  the  subjection 
of  the  individual  to  society.  The  misanthropical 
and  hypochondriacal  seclusion  into  which  Jean- 
Jacques  retired  so  early,  naturally  repels  the  great 
woman  of  the  world,  the  eloquent  talker  whose 
esprit  is  the  delight  of  salons.  What  passes 
naturally  from  Rousseau  to  her  is  his  impassioned 
tenderness,  sentimental  expansiveness,  invincible 
confidence  in  the  native  goodness  of  man.  From 
the  philosophy  of  her  master  she  rejects  all  the  in- 
tolerance and  pessimistical  distrust  of  a  maniac  for 
civilization,  and  accepts  all  that  is  consoling,  fortify- 
ing, and  qualified  to  elevate  human  nature,  —  in  fact, 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         55 

everything  in  accord  with  her  innate  optimism, 
her  generous,  confident  zeal,  her  dream  of  an 
always  better  and  happier  humanity,  her  faith  in 
the  final  triumph  of  truth  over  error  and  good 
over  evil. 

From  Jean-Jacques,  to  whom  she  is  further  united 
by  affinities  of  race  and  religious  education,  she  has 
received  a  spiritualism  proof  against  doubt  and 
inconstancy.  Her  first  profession  of  faith  is  that 
of  the  Vicar  of  Savoy.  Deeply  imbued  with 
morality,  she  is  spiritual  both  in  that  she  believes 
in  God  and  in  an  immaterial  soul,  and  because  she 
conceives  a  religion  of  mind  and  sentiment  which 
has  no  need  of  display  and  symbols,  —  a  religion 
which  is  a  close  communion  of  man  with  God. 
From  this  spiritualism,  which  is  the  basis  of  her 
nature,  she  inclines  more  and  more  towards  Chris- 
tianity, if  not  to  accept  its  dogmas,  at  least  to  absorb 
its  spirit.  And  this  is  what  distinguishes  her  from 
Chateaubriand,  —  though  she  can  become  a  Chris- 
tian, she  could  never  be  a  Catholic. 

While  still  young,  Madame  de  Stael  witnessed 
the  Revolution.  She  welcomed  an  era  of  legitimate 
demands  and  peaceful  conquests;  later,  she  refrained 
from  ascribing  men's  crimes  to  principles.  Her 
Litterature  was  published  the  day  after  the  Terror. 
What  does  she  attempt  to  prove  ?  In  her  own 
words,  "  Reason  and  philosophy  always  gain  new 
force  from  the  countless  misfortunes  of  mankind." 
The  most  violent  excesses  of  the  Revolution  do  not 
shake  her  faith  in  progress,  ever  the  most  potent 
source  of  her  moral  and  intellectual  activity.     In- 


56  Literary  Movement  tJi  France. 

deed,  the  apparent  contradictions  of  the  times  clash 
against  her  convictions  without  shaking  them. 

Crimes  repelled  her,  but  she  was  compassionate 
in  grief  and  misfortune.  Her  naturally  sympathetic 
heart  moved  her  to  pity.  Hence  a  form  of  melan- 
choly, not  inert,  morbid,  and  egotistical,  but  active, 
wholesome,  and  generous,  —  an  already  fertile  in- 
clination to  grave  sadness,  developing  in  her  a 
close  affiliation  with  the  "  spirit  of  the  North."  At 
the  same  time  her  eager  mind  forced  its  way  beyond 
the  Revolution,  in  order  to  discover  what  new  per- 
spectives so  great  a  crisis  would  open,  so  that  she 
might  be  the  first  on  the  field  and  lead  her  contem- 
poraries thither.  Together  with  the  gift  of  keen, 
rapid  intuitions  lighting  up  the  whole  horizon  with 
one  flash,  she  possesses  the  faculty  of  adapting  herself 
to  different  intellectual  centres,  and  also  the  ability  to 
feel  and  understand  all  things,  which  predestined 
her  to  be  the  great  leader  of  the  new  era.  Note 
how  she  throws  aside  a  Classical  heritage  and 
exclusive  social  relations  to  fraternize  with  the 
rising  democracy.  Her  naturally  liberal  and  hospi- 
table intelligence  grows  steadily  broader;  indeed, 
she  soon  feels  that  the  republican  spirit  will  favor 
the  "  transportation  of  more  vigorous  beauties  into 
literature,  also  a  more  harrowing,  more  philosophi- 
cal picture  of  events."  Though  the  introduction  of 
a  new  social  class  into  government  at  first  resembles 
barbarism,  this  very  barbarism  brings  with  it  a  new 
form  of  society,  and,  in  its  wake,  a  freer  and  more 
varied  code  of  aesthetics,  which  will  permit  the 
"  confines  of  art  to  be  widened."     Whatever  admira- 


Madame  de  Side  I  and  Ckateaudriand.         57 

tion  Racine's  tragedy  merits,  it  cannot  survive  the 
social  regime  in  which  it  flourished  ;  and  this  is  what 
Madame  de  Stael  foresaw  and  points  out  to  her 
generation.  Far  from  indulging  in  sterile  regrets 
for  a  past  without  return,  she  confidently  turns  her 
energy  towards  a  future  whose  spirit  she  has  divined. 
Her  birth,  education,  the  surroundings  and 
vicissitudes  of  her  life,  effectually  preserve  her 
from  the  contempt  and  prejudices  of  purism. 
With  these  different  influences  must  also  be  classed 
her  intellectual  "  Europeanism,"  one  of  the  most 
marked  qualities  of  her  mind,  and  its  action  upon 
our  literature.  By  family  ties  she  belonged  to  a 
very  cosmopolitan  city,  from  which  her  religion  as 
well  as  her  early  training  isolated  her;  she  had 
been  brought  up  by  a  strict  Calvinist  mother  in  a 
country  where  Catholicism  had  left  its  imprint  upon 
literary  doctrines,  social  and  political  institutions. 
From  the  time  of  the  Revolution  the  greater  part 
of  her  life  was  spent  in  foreign  lands.  She  visited 
Sweden,  Russia,  and  England,  lived  in  Italy,  and 
remained  long  in  Germany.  On  her  return  to 
France  one  of  the  Emperor's  ministers  declared  that 
the  "climate  would  not  agree  with  her."  In 
Geneva,  Sismondi  and  Benjamin  Constant  were  her 
friends  ;  in  Berne,  Bonstetten  ;  and  in  Germany,  such 
as  Schlegel,  whom  she  made  her  children's  pre- 
ceptor. What  influence  must  such  surroundings 
have  exerted  upon  an  intellect  ever  in  quest  of 
new  and  original  ideas,  and  not  always  preserved 
from  too  zealous  sympathies  by  a  judgment  less 
sure  than  bold } 


58  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Italy  attracted  Madame  de  Stael  towards  plastic 
art ;  and  although  this  incorrigible  penseuse  con- 
tinued to  prefer  "  a  literature  of  ideas,"  her  per- 
ception of  form  was  awakened,  —  partiality  for 
philosophical  writers  now  no  longer  preventing  her 
from  appreciating  those  beguiled  by  the  idol,  art. 
Delphine  could  never  have  become  Corinne  with- 
out having  visited  Italy.  German  influence  and 
sentiment,  enthusiasm  and  mystical  religion  for  the 
beautiful,  finally  outweighed  her  predilection  for 
analysis,  always  to  be  recognized  as  the  persistent 
spirit  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  spite  of  her  pro- 
testations. Madame  de  Stael's  mission  was  to 
introduce  and  accommodate  a  multitude  of  ideas 
and  feelings  which  her  cosmopolitan  spirit  bor- 
rowed from  all  nations.  *'  Henceforth,"  she  said, 
"  let  us  be  European." 

Following  out  the  gradual  growth  of  her  mind, 
in  order  to  discover  its  different  elements  as  we  pro- 
ceed, we  must  by  no  means  overlook  what  she  owed 
to  Chateaubriand.  Though  Chateaubriand  taught 
her  the  power  of  words,  and  revealed  the  secrets  of 
phrases  and  the  charm  of  fine  lines  and  harmonious 
rhymes  to  her,  he  had  no  part  in  the  moral  evolu- 
tion which  turned  her  more  and  more  towards  a 
broad  Christianity.  From  the  time  of  the  publica- 
tion oi\\Qr  Litterature,sh.Q.  showed  sympathy  for  the 
Christian  religion,  on  condition  of  being  allowed  to 
retrench  what  she  called  priestly  invention.  With 
her  this  is  a  natural  inclination  and  developed  of 
itself.  In  reality,  what  is  more  deeply  Christian 
than  that  impatience  of  limitation,  recognition  of  the 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         59 

incompleteness  of  destiny  and  insatiability  of  desire, 
to  which  she  attributes  the  "  greatest  and  most 
beautiful  things  man  has  accomplished?  " 

When  Christianity  comes  to  attract  her  more 
forcibly,  and  she  believes  it  the  "  very  source  of 
modern  genius,"  in  those  pages  of  Allemagne  so 
fervently  inspired  by  it,  her  conception  of  religion 
bears  no  resemblance  to  that  of  Chateaubriand.  To 
pagan  magnificence  she  does  not  oppose  the 
splendor  of  a  Catholic  Olympia,  but  "  suffering,  inno- 
cence, extreme  age,  and  a  Christian  death."  She 
would  not  convert  an  unbeliever  by  sending  him 
into  a  great  cathedral,  where  the  smoke  of  incense, 
magnificent  decorations,  and  the  mystical  reverbera- 
tion of  music  all  combine  in  luring  his  senses  and 
dazzling  his  imagination  ;  she  would  direct  him  to  a 
poor  country  church,  barren  of  ornament,  where  the 
presence  of  God  is  revealed  without  images  and 
artifice  to  a  humble  audience  of  peasants.  Accord- 
ing to  her, "  the  sanctuary  of  Christianity  lies  within 
the  soul."  More  profoundly  religious  than  he,  she 
was  so  from  the  heart,  as  was  Chateaubriand 
through  the  imagination. 

In  order  to  understand  what  part  she  played  in 
the  literary  movement  of  her  century,  we  must 
explain  under  what  influences  her  mind  was 
unfolded. 

Summing  up  her  role  in  one  word,  she  might 
be  said  to  have  introduced  the  "septentrional 
spirit "  into  France.  Even  in  her  Litterature, 
did  she  devote  several  chapters  to  the  poets  of  Eng- 
land   and    Germany.      Allemagne   is   a   passionate 


6o  Literary  Movement  in  Fraiice. 

dithyramb  in  honor  of  Germanic  genius.  Germany 
had  remained  almost  entirely  unknown  to  us  until 
the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Vol- 
taire's literary  relations  had  been  confined  to 
Gottsched,  the  faithful  disciple  of  Classic  taste. 
Later,  the  idyls  of  Gessner  and  the  Messiade  reached 
us,  and  the  National  Assembly  conferred  the  title  of 
French  Citizen  upon  Schiller  and  Klopstock  at  the 
same  time.  Though  a  few  great  names  were  known 
to  us,  the  movement  of  ideas  which  was  being  car- 
ried on  without  our  knowledge  and  in  opposition 
to  our  traditions,  had  completely  escaped  our  no- 
tice.    This  Madame  de  Stael  disclosed  to  us. 

The  author  of  Allemagne  feels  the  need  of  a 
renovation  more  vividly  than  her  contemporaries. 
"  The  sterility  that  menaces  our  literature  at  the 
present  time,"  she  says,  "  would  seem  to  indicate 
that  the  French  mind  needs  to  be  regenerated  by 
more  vigorous  sap."  She  wishes  to  borrow  some- 
thing of  the  depth  and  seriousness  of  the  North,  — 
according  to  her  its  distinctive  characteristics.  All 
her  literary  philosophy  relates  to  the  division  which 
she  establishes  at  the  outset  between  poetry  as 
modelled  upon  the  ancients  and  that  which  owes 
its  origin  to  the  middle  ages:  on  the  one  hand, 
from  that  which  first  "  received  its  charm  and  color 
from  paganism.;"  on  the  other,  from  that  which 
"  derives  its  impulse  and  development  from  an 
essentially  spiritual  religion."  This  idea  is  ad- 
vanced in  la  Litterature,  where  its  author  openly 
confesses  that  "  all  her  ideas  and  impressions  nat- 
urally  turn    her  towards  the   North."     When  ccn- 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.        6i 

sured  for  renouncing  domestic  traditions  and 
betraying  French  genius,  she  repHes  that  France 
would  only  make  another  China  by  surrounding 
herself  by  a  great  wall.  Furthermore,  she  adds 
that  one  may  respect  the  true  principles  of  Classic 
taste,  while  admiring  "  what  is  passionate  in  the 
affections  and  profound  in  the  thoughts  of  the 
North,"  and  attempting  to  instil  into  our  literature 
"something  of  the  beauty,  pathos,  and  sublimity  of 
the  sombre  nature  they  have  known  how  to  por- 
tray." She  is  far  from  wishing  us  to  become  en- 
slaved by  the  North :  we  should  modify  in  our 
own  manner  and  impress  with  our  own  individ- 
uality those  ideas  with  which  Germany,  "  the  father 
of  thought,"  can  furnish  us.  This  we  must  do  by 
freeing  ourselves  from  native  superstitions,  broaden- 
ing our  criticism,  and  ceasing  to  regard  "  Louis 
XIV.'s  age  as  a  model  of  perfection  which  no 
eloquent  writer  or  thinker  can  ever  surpass." 

From  the  time  of  the  publication  of  her  Littera- 
ture,  Madame  de  Stael  had  been  accused  of  present- 
ing "  a  new  code  of  poetics."  Whether  she  deny 
it  or  not,  it  is,  indeed,  a  new  poetry  which  she 
opens  to  a  new  century,  —  not,  however,  by  substi- 
tutins:  new  for  old  rules  and  new  for  old  formulas. 
The  originality  of  this  poetry,  in  which  good  taste 
becomes  the  analytical  observation  of  nature,  con- 
sists precisely  in  freeing  art  from  all  rules  and 
formulas.  She  condemns  the  legislators  of  Clas- 
sicism for  having  built  up  an  exclusively  negative 
criticism,  which  "  concerns  only  what  must  be 
avoided,"  and  conceals  the  temple  of  art  beneath  a 


62  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

heavy  scaffolding  of  pedantic,  sterilizing  precepts. 
In  France  she  finds  too  heavy  curbs  for  coursers  so 
little  inclined  to  break  away.  In  confining  ourselves 
to  dramatic  unities,  she  says,  we  substitute  false  sym- 
metry for  truth  in  action,  and  sacrifice  substance  to 
form  as  in  acrostics.  For  the  theatre  she  demands 
subjects  better  suited  to  the  public,  less  display,  a 
naturalness  that  does  not  fear  to  heighten  the  effect 
of  the  sublime  by  contact  with  vulgarity,  characters 
instead  of  abstract  passions,  real  men  instead  of 
*'  heroic  marionettes,"  less  logic  in  the  personages 
and  less  geometry  in  the  division  of  action.  In 
doing  away  with  tragedy  and  comedy  with  their 
artificial  forms,  as  with  descriptive  and  didactic 
styles,  in  which  she  considers  we  have  excelled, 
Madame  de  Stael  announces  the  great  poetical 
outburst  of  our  century.  She  urges  the  coming 
generations  towards  that  lyricism  which  overflows 
inspired  hearts  in  sudden,  involuntary  effusions, 
"  like  the  song  of  sibyls  or  prophets."  The  poet's 
work  must  be  accomplished  by  abandoning  himself 
to  inspiration,  and  his  poem  judged  by  the  im- 
pression received.  To  mediocre  productions  she 
prefers  those  works  in  which  faults  are,  here  and 
there,  redeemed  by  rays  of  genius.  She  confronts 
what  is  mechanical  with  sentiment,  dexterity  of 
mind  with  the  heart's  abandon,  false  methods  of 
art  with  the    candor    of    nature. 

Morality  is  her  great  preoccupation.  Always 
returning  to  it,  she  also  refers  everything  to  it  alike. 
Her  entire  poetics  can  be  summed  up  in  this  exhor- 
tation addressed  to  poets :  "  Be  virtuous,  believing, 


Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand.        63 

free ;  respect  what  you  love ;  seek  immortality  in 
love  and  divinity  in  nature ;  sanctify  your  soul  as 
a  temple."  She  condemns  that  irony  which  re- 
duces everything  to  dust.  She  realizes  that  the 
time  has  passed  for  more  or  less  keen  jests  directed 
against  what  is  serious,  noble,  divine.  She  an- 
nounces a  doctrine  of  belief  and  enthusiasm,  in 
which  reason  confirms  what  the  heart  reveals. 
Henceforth,  she  declares,  youth  can  only  be  re- 
stored to  humanity  by  returning  to  religion  through 
philosophy  and  sentiment  by  way  of  reason.  The 
first  condition  necessary  to  renew  art  consists  in 
the  regeneration  of  the  inner  life  of  the  soul.  The 
soul  lives  by  religion  and  sentiment.  Now,  our 
Classic  poets  have  set  in  verse  the  spirit  of  a  bril- 
liant, refined  society;  to  Romantic  poetry,  which 
she  recommends  in  other  peoples  and  predicts  near 
at  hand  for  us,  is  left  the  entire  field  of  solitary  im- 
pressions, remote  reveries,  and  pious  meditations. 

It  is  this  ideal  towards  which  Madame  de  Stael 
turns  with  ever-increasing  earnestness.  The  always 
active,  expansive,  valiant  improvisatrice  constitutes 
"  melancholy,"  pre-eminently  the  seal  of  divine 
election,  an  indication  of  depth  as  well  as  a  war- 
rant of  fecundity.  All  the  moral  and  esthetic 
philosophy  of  Allemagne  is  inspired  by  the  infinite, 
that  "veritable  attribute  of  the  soul,"  the  source  of 
both  genius  and  virtue. 

This  infinity  she  feels  not  only  within  herself,  but 
in  the  universe.  Her  heart  is  in  communion  with 
exterior  nature.  She  enthusiastically  extols  sights 
and  scenes  of  the  visible  world  which  she  has  never 


64  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

so  much  as  seen.  She  does  not  see  lines  and 
colors  like  Chateaubriand,  but  a  soul  that  seeks  her 
soul  to  commune  with  it.  She  admires  and  ren- 
ders only  what  relates  to  sentiment ;  she  has 
neither  pencil  to  trace  outlines,  nor  brush  to  re- 
produce miances  and  reflets,  nor  scales  of  infinite 
chords  to  yield  harmonies.  She  finds  the  universe 
but  a  collection  of  symbols  whose  forms  are  indiffer- 
ent to  her,  and  only  claim  her  interest  for  the  ideas 
which  they  represent.  She  discovers  I  know  not 
what  relation  between  the  blue  of  the  heavens  and 
a  valiant  heart,  between  a  moonbeam  resting  on  a 
mountain  and  a  tranquil  conscience.  When  the 
evening  sky  seems  to  touch  the  earth  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  landscape,  her  imagination  pic- 
tures beyond  the  horizon  a  refuge  for  hope,  a  land 
of  love,  a  temple  of  immortality.  "  It  is  this  secret 
alliance  of  the  soul  with  the  marvels  of  the  uni- 
verse that  gives  poetry  its  real  grandeur,"  she  says ; 
and  she  compares  the  poet  to  those  "  sorcerers  " 
whose  magic  consists  in  so  close  an  acquaintance 
with  the  elements  that  they  can  discover  their 
sources  by  the  nervous  emotion  they  excite. 

With  the  soul  of  a  moralist,  Madame  de  Stael, 
though  a  great  esprit  penseur,  using  her  favorite 
expression,  is  not  a  great  writer.  The  rapid  suc- 
cession of  thoughts  and  feelings  that  press  be- 
neath her  pen,  leaves  her  no  time  to  think  of  the 
form  in  which  she  invests  them  ;  for  this  she  has  no 
more  taste  than  time.  Her  sensibility  is  too  active, 
and  her  conception  too  prompt ;  the  purely  artistic 
temperament  must  possess  a  certain  degree  of  men- 


Madame  de  Side  I  aiid  Chateaubriand.        65 

tal  indolence  and  indifference  of  heart.  She  has  too 
much  candor,  too  much  spontaneity;  in  the  pure 
artist,  using  the  word  in  its  etymological  sense, 
a  certain  amount  of  hypocrisy  is  also  essential. 
Madame  de  Stael  writes  just  as  she  thinks,  but 
without  being  able  to  impart  to  her  style  the  living 
quality  of  her  speech.  Her  finest  books  have  never 
been  written ;  they  were  improvisations.  No  one 
has  accomplished  more  for  art  in  the  sense  that  no 
one  has  ever  diffused  more  fertile,  more  vivifying 
ideas.  These  very  ideas,  which  seemed  paradoxical 
when  expressed  for  the  first  time,  became  common 
property  twenty  or  thirty  years  later.  They  no 
longer  belonged  to  her,  for  they  had  fallen  into  and 
had  been  absorbed  by  the  current ;  hence  no  one 
was  forced  to  open  her  Litterature  and  Allemagne 
to  find  them.  Style  belongs  to  the  man,  according 
to  Buffon's  profound  expression.  Madame  de  Stael 
possesses  no  style  ;  and  this  is  why,  of  all  she  left, 
her  memory  alone  seems  pledged  to  posterity.  No 
writer  is  more  famous,  and  no  one  is,  in  reality,  less 
known.  We  confidently  consent  to  admire  her ; 
but  who  reads  her  works  .f*  She  has  discoursed 
pen  in  hand ;  but  written  causeries,  however  elo- 
quent, can  never  constitute  a  monument.  Although 
far  superior  to  Chateaubriand  in  breadth  and  fertility 
of  mind,  she  will,  doubtless,  only  live  in  name. 

Madame  de  Stael  has,  nevertheless,  exercised  a 
deeper  and  more  varied  influence  than  Chateau- 
briand over  the  literary  movement  of  our  times.  In 
uniting  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries, 
she  preserved  all  that  was  pure  and  noble  in  the 


66  Literary  Movemc7it  in  France. 

first,   and    discovered  the    springs    from  which  the 
second  would  draw   new  inspiration.     Soul  flights 
towards  the  infinite,  fervent  meditation,  gentle  com- 
munion,—  is  not  this  what  the  new  age  was  about 
to   express,   together   with    that    religious    emotion 
whose  source  she  had  reopened  ?     The  regeneration 
of  poetical  sentiment    is  but  a  part  of   her   work. 
More  than  any  one,  did  she   assist   in   that   eman- 
cipation of   art   which    became    the    watchword    of 
the  following  generation.     She  waged  war  against 
literary  prejudices  with   an  earnest  eloquence  and 
just  perception  which  henceforth   assured  the  vic- 
tory of  Romanticism.     Too  comprehensive  of  mind 
to  be  systematical,  she  has  everywhere  baited  lines. 
It    became   her   glory  to  divine   and    grasp    every- 
thing ;   or  rather,  it  was  the  predestined  role  of  a 
sympathetic  heart  and  indefatigable  brain.     In  lib- 
eratinsf   art,    she    renewed    at    the    same    time    our 
entire  literary  philosophy.     The  first  of  her  great 
works   instituted    a  new  criticism  which  she    soon 
afterwards  applied  in  her  second  work.     This  was 
our  modern,  eclectic,  explicative  criticism,  less  bent 
upon     judging     than     comprehending,     pretending 
neither  to   absolute    theories    nor    decisive  conclu- 
sions.    Rather  than  force  nature  in  order  to  obtain 
at  any  price  a  rigid  and  false  illusion  of  unity,  it 
prefers    to    adapt    itself    to   an    endless    variety   of 
talents  and  characters. 

Madame  de  Stael's  work  has  been  to  strengthen 
the  inward  life  of  the  heart  and  religious  senti- 
ment, to  deliver  art  from  binding  rules  and  for- 
mulas,   to    renew    the  spirit    of    literary     criticism. 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         67 

Though  her  name  alone  remains,  it  will  always  be 
that  of  a  great  initiator.  She  it  was  who  directed 
the  moral  and  intellectual  movement  of  our  epoch 
into  so  many  diverse  spheres,  imbued  the  century 
with  fruitful  ideas,  and  gave  a  new  soul  to  our 
poetry. 

If  it  can  be  said  that  Madame  de  Stael  realized, 
in  her  own  constant  moral  and  intellectual  progress, 
the  theory  of  perfectibility  upon  which  her  phi- 
losophy was  based,  certainly  the  fixity  of  view  in 
accordance  with  which  Chateaubriand's  life  and 
works  were  planned,  is  no  less  remarkable.  Cha- 
teaubriand opposes  Madame  de  Stael's  project  to 
unite  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries.  His 
object  is  to  promote  a  reaction  against  which  every 
reconciliation  would  be  treason  and  sacrilege. 
From  this  point  of  view  even  his  Essai  sur  les 
revolutions  falls  in  with  the  unity  of  the  rest  of  his 
work  ;  for  the  entire  book  is  directed  against  that 
doctrine  of  progress  which  is  the  last  message 
bequeathed  to  us  by  the  eighteenth  century.  When 
Chateaubriand  wrote  this  Essai,  he  was  not  a  Chris- 
tian ;  however,  it  is  very  evident  that  he  is  in  a 
moral  condition  bordering  upon  conversion,  for 
surely  a  young  man  so  painfully  sceptical  could  not 
long  kick  against  the  stings  of  grace. 

The  theory  of  perfectibility  which  the  sceptic  of 
the  Essai  atta,cks,  he  soon  refutes  in  his  Genie  du 
Chris tia7zisme  in  virtue  of  his  Christian  faith.  At 
this  epoch  Madame  de  Stael  was  its  most  promi- 
nent  apostle  ;  he  therefore  turns  against  her.     He 


68  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

at  once  poses  as  the  natural  antagonist  of  the 
eighteenth  century  which  she  represents,  and, 
profiting  by  the  opportunity  of  taking  part  in  a 
discussion  between  her  and  his  friend  Fontanes, 
he  writes  a  letter  to  the  Mercure,  in  which  he 
strikes    his    first  blow  in  the  war  which  he  waees 

o 

against  rationalistic  philosophy.  "  You  do  not 
know,"  he  says,  "  that  my  folly  consists  in  every- 
where seeing  Jesus  Christ,  just  as  Madame  de 
Stael  finds  nothing  but  perfectibility."  This  is 
Chateaubriand  throughout.  In  1800  he  is  the 
apologist  of  the  Christian  religion ;  such  he  con- 
tinues to  be  all  his  life  and  in  all  his  works,  from 
le  Genie  de  christianisme  to  la  Vie  de  Ranee.  He  is 
the  chevalier  of  the  Cross.  Less  sensible  to  the 
reproach  of  impiety  than  to  that  of  treason,  he  re- 
mains true  to  it  through  long  relapses  of  doubt  and 
despair,  from  a  sense  of  honor,  if  not  by  faith. 

What  is  most  significant  in  his  sometimes 
hollow-sounding  Christianity  is  its  artistic  and 
decorative  conception.  Now  we  touch  upon  Cha- 
teaubriand's essential  characteristic,  and  the  peculiar 
originality  of  his  genius.  In  the  greatest  possible 
degree  he  possesses  that  feeling  for  plastic  art 
wanting  in  his  rival.  The  first  eagerly  and  im- 
patiently pursues  her  vast  career,  branching  off  in 
every  direction,  jumping  from  one  conclusion  to 
another,  exhausting  and  consuming  herself;  the 
second  first  circumscribes  his  field  so  that  he  can 
embrace  it  by  a  single  glance.  He  is  master  of 
himself,  and  knows  at  once  how  to  regulate  his 
course  of  action,  how  to  moderate  and  restrain  him- 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         69 

self.  Madame  de  Stael  opens  up  new  views ;  Cha- 
teaubriand ordains  forms.  Madame  de  Stael  is  an 
ideologist ;  Chateaubriand  is,  above  all  things,  an 
artist. 

Even  in  his  life,  which  he  disposes  to  the  best 
effect,  is  he  an  artist.  Fatal  or  grandiose  loves ;  a 
voyage  of  discovery  through  the  solitudes  of  the 
New  World ;  a  path  to  Damascus  inundated  with 
rays  and  crashing  with  thunderbolts ;  a  death  duel 
with  the  all-powerful  ruler  of  Europe ;  a  brilliant 
pilgrimage  from  Paris  through  Athens  and  Mem- 
phis to  Jerusalem,  —  these  were  the  elements  of  his 
life.  First  a  Christian  aureole ;  then  a  reflex  from 
the  Greek  Muse;  the  triumphs  of  ambition  fol- 
lowed by  contempt  of  power;  and,  more  glorious 
than  power  itself,  a  long  studied  and  carefully  pre- 
pared apotheosis  which  prostrates  an  entire  century 
at  his  feet,  —  such  was  his  existence,  from  the  som- 
bre, impressive  legends  of  his  birth  to  the  tomb. 
This  tomb,  as  if  for  final  prestige,  the  illustrious 
poet  had  had  prepared  facing  the  ocean,  as  if  all 
other  neighborhood  would  have  been  an  insult  to 
his  ashes. 

There  are  many  errors    in   Chateaubriand's  life, 
many  defects  in  his  character,  but  in  neither  can 
a  stain   be   found.     His  virtues,  it  is   true,  are  in  ^ 
no  sense   those  of    the  bourgeois.      More   brilliant  | 
than  solid,  they  are  those  best  fitted  to  set  off  his  f 
genius.     They  can  all  be  included  in  his  sense  of 
honor,    which,    through    his    many    caprices    and 
imprudences,    always    preserved    him    from    vulgar 
compromises.      Chateaubriand    played    a  role ;    he 


70  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

introduced  Romanticism  into  affairs  of  State;  in- 
deed, too  often  he  sees  in  politics  but  an  occasion 
for  pompous  display.  His  inconsequences  of  con- 
duct, love  of  pose,  the  refinement  of  his  vanity,  and 
the  impatient  explosions  of  his  ambition,  all  his 
contradictions  and  weaknesses,  are,  after  all,  those 
of  the  poet  and  the  actor.  In  his  private  life  he  is 
uneven,  haughty,  egotistical ;  in  his  public  life 
he  lacks  sequence  and  purport,  perhaps  also  gravity. 
The  poet  and  the  actor  color  his  whole  life,  which, 
when  viewed  fom  the  outside,  bespeaks  a  nobility 
of  attitude  and  a  glamour  of  generosity  always 
allied  to  greatness  of  talent. 

Chateaubriand  is  at  once  personal  in  his  char- 
acter and  "  objective "  in  his  genius.  That  he  is 
personal  is  quite  evident  in  his  works.  We  alvva3'S 
find  him  on  the  scene  posing  for  his  heroes.  He 
compares  himself  to  those  animals  which  "  feed 
upon  themselves  for  want  of  exterior  nourishment." 
He  also  knows  how  to  escape  from  himself ;  how 
to  select  and  picture  himself  in  his  most  attractive 
attitudes.  He  never  abandons  himself,  never  gives 
free  vent  to  his  emotion ;  his  are  never  improvised 
tears.  "  I  weep,"  he  says,  "  but  it  is  to  the  sound  of 
Orpheus'  lyre." 

Since  Chateaubriand  pleased  to  portray  himself 
in  the  character  of  Rene,  reappearing  as  the  char- 
acteristic figure  of  each  of  his  works,  under  cover 
of  this  and  other  names,  we  will  compare  him  to 
the  type  of  disenchantment  and  moral  inanity  in 
Senancour's  Oberman.  Let  us,  then,  try  to  dis- 
cover Rene's  real  character  before  imasfination   and 


Madaine  de  Stdel  aud  Chateaubriand.         yi 

the  poet's  radiant  art  lightened  his  gloom  and  trans- 
formed it  into  a  halo  of  glory.  Chateaubriand's 
dejection  is  not  affected.  "  From  the  time  of  my 
birth  have  I  been  wearied  of  life,"  he  says.  He 
is  "a  great  spirit  inspired  by  melancholy,"  —  one 
who  cannot  be  consoled.  Rene's  illimitable  soul  is 
harassed  by  every  restriction,  wounded  by  ever) 
obstruction.  His  activity  exhausts  itself  without 
fruition,  and  he  finally  dies  of  desires  that  can 
be  neither  satisfied  nor  even  determined.  Doubt- 
less this  is  Chateaubriand  himself  in  all  his  misery 
as  well  as  in  all  his  grandeur,  and  with  that  great 
capacity  for  the  infinite  doomed  to  remain  void. 
Yet  how  his  sincerity  allows  us  to  perceive  the 
artist !  What  pleasure  he  finds  in  arrangement, 
setting  forth,  and  draping,  in  the  search  for  pic- 
turesque effect  !  Oberman  buries  himself  in 
mournful  contemplation ;  he  does  not  aspire  to 
array  himself  in  his  grief;  he  does  not  proudly 
display  his  wound  ;  his  melancholy  encompasses 
him  with  a  dull,  barren  sadness.  Rene,  on  the 
contrary,  caresses  the  malady  he  laments.  It  is 
impossible,  nor  does  he  wish  to  be  consoled.  The 
poet  within  him  calms  his  pain  by  singing  of  his 
sufferinsrs  in  beautiful  words  that  make  it  enviable 
and  glorious.  Rene  is  a  knight  who  poetizes  his 
birth,  the  glory  of  his  arms,  his  strange,  distant 
travels  in  the  land  of  the  rising  sun.  He  is  the 
captivating  lover  with  a  brow  stamped  by  the  seal 
of  genius,  who  inspires  irresistible  passions,  and, 
above  all  others,  the  confidant  of  the  gods,  the 
elect   of  the   Muse.      And   what    of  his    incurable 


72  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

melancholy  ?  Doubtless  always  there ;  but  Ober- 
man  was  its  victim,  while  Rene  is  its  hero. 

Chateaubriand's  Christianity  —  that  Christianity 
which  constitutes  the  moral  unity  of  his  work  —  is 
based  upon  an  ideal,  in  which  reason  counts  for 
nothing,  and  the  heart  figures  less  than  the  imagi- 
nation. We  will  not  here  review  those  accusations 
which  his  enemies  did  not  hesitate  to  heap  upon 
him  when  they  saw  the  sceptic  and  fatalist  of  the 
Essai  pose  as  the  champion  of  Christianity.  We 
trust  the  poet's  sincerity,  —  that  he  really  wept  and 
believed,  that  he  believed  because  he  wept.  Cha- 
teaubriand's conviction  is  certainly  not  that  of 
a  Bossuet.  He  has  his  relapses  of  discouragement. 
At  times  he  is  reclaimed  by  that  constitutional  pes- 
simism which  turns  sometimes  to  absolute  unbelief, 
sometimes  to  an  exalted  Christianity.  He  says  him- 
self :  "  This  alternative  of  doubt  and  belief  has  long 
made  my  life  a  confusion  of  despair  and  ineffable 
delight."  However  frequent  its  eclipse,  his  works 
were  inspired  by  faith,  especially  his  Genie  du  chris- 
tianis7ne,  which  he  wrote  in  expiation  of  his  Essai. 
We  cannot  question  Chateaubriand's  sincerity, 
which  amounts  to  mysticism  and  mythological 
superstition,  but  rather  the  solid  foundation,  the 
seriousness  almost,  of  his  religious  convictions. 

The  arorument  of  his  Genie  du  christianisme  is 
absurd,  puerile,  and  lacking  in  reason.  Can  the 
divinity  of  the  Christian  religion  be  proved  by  the 
migration  of  birds.?  Is  the  fact  that  the  serpent 
creeps  sufficient  to  establish  original  sin.^*  Is  the 
celibacy  of  priests  rightly  authorized  by  the  virginity 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         'jt^ 

of  bees  ?  To  his  "  proofs  "  let  us  add  descriptions  of 
tournaments  and  other  poetical  pictures,  outbursts 
of  sentimentality,  and  transports  of  enthusiasm ; 
for  in  these  consist  Chateaubriand's  entire  demon- 
stration. Atala,  a  love  story,  serves  as  preface  to 
his  apology  for  Christianity.  Is  it  possible  to  make 
Rene  pass  for  a  work  of  Christian  inspiration  by 
pointing  out  the  evil  effects  of  passion  on  a  heart 
untouched  by  grace }  Chateaubriand  cares  little  to 
pour  poison  into  the  chalice ;  he  has  only  seen  the 
"  beauties  "  of  Christianity.  He  deals  with  it  as  an 
artist,  seeking  brilliant  motifs  and  rich  embellish- 
ments. He  converts  the  sanctuary  into  a  museum, 
and  the  Holy  Scriptures  into  a  mythological  dic- 
tionary. Starting  off  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Palestine 
and  Christ's  tomb,  he  pauses  by  the  way  at  every 
historical  or  picturesque  scene,  and,  at  the  end  of 
his  journey,  confesses  that  he  went  to  the  Holy 
Land  to  prepare  colors ;  in  fine,  to  seek  a  renown 
that  would  make  him  loved. 

Let  us  accept  Chateaubriand  for  what  he  is.  His 
is  not  a  treatise  on  theology,  but  a  work  of  Christian 
art,  and  essentially  a  work  of  art.  In  his  Genie  du 
christianisme  he  proposes  to  prove  that,  of  all  that 
have  ever  existed,  the  Christian  religion  is  the 
most  poetical.  Christianity  represented  but  a  child- 
ish, Gothic  superstition  at  the  close  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century.  Chateaubriand  did  not  attempt  to 
demonstrate  its  truth,  as  Pascal  had  undertaken  to 
do ;  he  only  wished  to  bring  into  evidence  its  senti- 
mental and  aesthetic  beauties.  Instead  of  fathoming 
the  soul  of  man,  as  did  the  author  of  les  Pensees,  he 


74  Literary  Movement  iii  France. 

confined  himself  to  the  exterior  world,  to  pleasing 
appearances,  and  all  that  charms  the  senses.  It  is 
an  artist's  method,  and  necessarily  opposed  to  that 
of  the  philosopher;  it  is  the  method  of  "Roman- 
ticism." Bonald  sought  to  prove  Christianity  by 
facts,  not  by  images ;  by  reasoning,  not  by  pres- 
tige and  artifice.  He  compared  religion,  as  repre- 
sented by  Chateaubriand,  to  a  queen  appearing 
before  her  people  in  a  solemn  ceremony,  wearing  a 
crown  glittering  with  gold  and  precious  stones  on 
her  brow.  The  author  of  le  Ghiie  du  christianisme 
and  les  Martyrs  does  not  convince  the  understand- 
ing ;  he  arouses  sensibility,  dazzles  the  imagination. 
At  the  moment  when  divine  mysteries  are  being 
celebrated  in  Atala,  "  the  sun  issues  from  an  abyss 
of  light,  its  first  ray  falling  upon  the  consecrated 
host  as  the  priest  raises  it  on  high."  Chateaubriand 
can  be  said  to  have  gilded  the  Catholic  host. 

In  reality  his  religion  is  but  asstheticism,  and  his 
aesthetics  are  those  of  a  purely  artistic  nature,  de- 
lighting, above  all  things,  in  grandeur  and  harmony. 
Though  he  prefers  the  Classic  type  of  beauty,  he 
is  broad  enough  to  find  pleasure  in  the  beautiful 
under  whatever  form  presented.  He  was  the  first 
to  do  justice  to  the  seventeenth  century,  so  long 
undervalued.  He  places  it  above  the  eighteenth 
century,  because  of  his  aversion  to  the  philosophy 
of  Voltaire  and  Diderot,  as  well  as  for  the  reason 
that  he  considers  Diderot's  art  inferior  to  that  of 
Bossuet,  just  as  Voltaire's  falls  below  that  of  Racine. 
Thus,  the  forefather  of  Romanticism  aims  to  renew 
tradition  without  deforming  it.      He  favors  the  dis- 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.         75 

tinction  and  hierarchy  of  styles ;  upholds  not  only 
dramatic  unity,  but  all  the  unities;  protests  against 
the  union  of  the  comic  and  tragic ;  refuses  to 
admit  the  ugly  as  an  integrant  part  of  artistic  works. 
At  the  very  beginning  of  the  century  he  saw  that 
the  world  of  letters  would  be  divided  into  two 
schools,  —  the  one  admiring  foreign  works,  the 
other  continuing  in  the  traditions  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  He  attached  himself  to  the  sec- 
ond, on  condition  of  being  allowed  certain  reforms. 
He  defines  his  role  when  he  says,  that  "a  man  walk- 
ing cautiously  between  two  lines  might,  by  remain- 
ing nearer  the  old  line,  unite  these  two  schools,  and 
bring  about  the  new  spirit  of  a  new  age." 

While  restoring  the  Christianity  of  the  middle 
ages,  Chateaubriand  at  the  same  time  reveals  the 
Grecian  type  of  beauty.  With  supreme  magic  of 
style  and  sentiment,  he  revives  pagan  mythology 
in  his  Catholic  epopee.  Though  a  singer  of  biblical 
marvels,  he  makes  sacrifices  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Olympia ;  in  cathedrals  he  confesses  to  idolatry 
for  the  gods  of  the  Greek  Pantheon.  Although  the 
foundation  of  his  poetics  is  Christian,  he  would  have 
some  reflection  from  pagan  beauty  pass  into  the 
works  inspired  by  it.  We  feel  that  he  has  read  the 
Iliad  zxidi  CEdip7is  tyran7i7is  with  no  less  enthusiasm 
than  the  Bible.  Homer  and  Sophocles  are  his 
masters.  Whatever  touches  upon  Hellenic  my- 
thology in  les  Martyrs  is  charmingly  fresh  and 
graceful,  also  vivid  and  pleasing  in  coloring ;  what- 
ever relates  to  Christian  miracles  is  cold,  heavy, 
at  once  both  puerile  and  laborious.     In  fltineraire 


76  Literary  Moveme^it  m  France. 

his  native  paganism  reclaims  him  as  soon  as  he 
approaches  the  shores  of  Greece.  His  exaltation 
before  the  most  sacred  souvenirs  of  Christian 
antiquity  is  sometimes  that  of  a  man  whose  emotion 
mounts  at  will,  and  whose  head  only  is  in  sympathy. 
In  Greece,  on  the  contrary,  his  zeal  is  in  no  sense 
affected ;  for  heart  and  imagination  are  both  in 
spirit.  Here  there  are  no  forced  tirades,  no  cold 
declamations.  We  cannot  now  doubt  his  earnest- 
ness, but  rather  those  later  restrictions  by  which 
he  would  afterwards  fain  win  pardon.  He  set  out 
with  a  pilgrim's  staff ;  this  staff  changed  to  a 
thyrsus  in  his  hand. 

This  ardent  admirer  of  beautiful  forms  and  har- 
monious contours  is  the  master  of  the  modern 
descriptive  school.  He  was,  of  course,  preceded  by 
others,  —  Buffon,  Rousseau,  and  Bernardin.  Buf- 
fon's  dignity  is  not  without  a  certain  degree  of  cold- 
ness ;  Rousseau,  with  no  less  breadth,  although  with 
more  grace  and  richness  than  Buffon,  is  somewhat 
monotonous  in  his  descriptions  of  nature.  He 
lacks  what  Sainte-Beuve  calls  reflet  et  veloute.  If 
not  slightly  ironical,  of  what  import  are  Bernardin's 
words,  "  I  have  but  a  little  pencil ;  M.  de  Chateau- 
briand has  a  brush  "  ?  In  Chateaubriand  we  find  the 
majesty  of  Buffon  without  his  coldness,  the  breadth 
and  richness  of  Jean-Jacques  with  the  shading  of 
Bernardin.  There  are  no  aspects  of  nature  to  which 
he  has  not  lent  his  genius,  no  skies  that  have  not 
provided  him  with  some  never-to-be-forgotten  pic- 
ture. Of  these  are  the  prairies  and  primitive  forests 
of  the  New  World  ;  the  ruins  of  Sparta ;  the  Sabine 


Madame  de  St  del  and  Chateaubriand.        "jj 

mountains,  "  enveloped  in  diaphanous  light ;  "  the 
Holy  Land,  with  its  solitudes,  "  where  rare  fig-trees 
stretch  out  their  blackened  leaves  to  the  scorching 
wind ; "  the  grandiose  desolation  of  the  Roman 
plains  ;  "  the  low,  flat  horizons  of  Germany."  Cha- 
teaubriand has  traversed  the  world  from  one  end  to 
the  other,  and  from  each  of  the  countries  visited  has 
he  brought  back  a  strikingly  clear  picture,  which  he 
places  before  us  with  one  stroke  of  his  brush. 

He  has  been  censured  for  being;  inexact.  If 
fidelity  consists  in  reproducing  each  trait,  Chateau- 
briand is  not  a  faithful  painter.  Although  he  gives 
more  thought  than  his  predecessors  to  precise,  often 
even  technical  details,  he  cares  most  for  the  general 
impression.  He  adds  and  detracts  without  scruple ; 
in  fine,  he  corrects  nature.  His  souvenirs  are 
always  modified,  and  his  landscapes  are  submitted 
to  the  effect  he  wishes  to  produce.  This  would 
undoubtedly  be  a  great  fault  in  a  geographer. 

Truth  does  not  lie  in  the  material  accuracy  of 
each  feature,  but  in  the  general  impression  produced. 
Sainte-Beuve  compares  a  chapter  from  le  Voyage 
d' Anacharsis,  that  upon  Athens,  to  a  correspond- 
ing passage  of  V Itineraire.  Which  is  the  truer  pic- 
ture, that  of  Barthelemy  or  Chateaubriand.'*  One 
is  a  conscientious,  well-informed  guide  who  takes 
us  over  the  city  and  gives  us  excellent  instructions 
at  every  step.  The  other  is  a  magician  who  reinvests 
it  with  all  its  life  and  movement,  —  with  its  theatre, 
where  Sophocles  and  Euripides  dispute  the  olive 
crown;  with  its  public  square,  still  seeming  to 
vibrate  with  the  eloquence  of  a  Demosthenes ;  with 


Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Its  Piraeus,  where  vessels  with  painted  banners  bring 
purple  from  Tyre  and  perfumes  from  Ethiopia.  Of 
the  two,  which  is  the  truer  to  nature  ?  Surely  the 
less  exact. 

What  he  says  of  the  descriptive  artist  also  applies 
to  the  historian.  All  his  works,  especially  les 
Martyrs,  show  sentiment  for  reality,  and  that  gift  of 
animating,  picturing,  and  evoking  the  past,  —  truly 
called  the  soul  of  history.  If  we  compare  the  works 
of  dry  learning  or  abstract  philosophy  produced  by 
our  best  historians,  with  this  epopee,  in  which 
Christian  and  pagan  antiquity  live  and  move,  we 
shall  recognize  Chateaubriand  as  the  first  initiator 
of  that  historical  renaissance  of  which  our  age  is  so 
justly  proud. 

"  In  respect  to  erudition,"  he  says,  "  imagination 
is  as  a  scout  always  pushing  onward,  like  a  Cossack 
making  his  points."  This  expression  applies  to  no 
one  so  well  as  to  its  author.  He  has,  indeed,  made 
his  points.  In  the  domain  of  history,  as  in  all 
others,  he  has  been  the  forerunner  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  A  few  pages  of  an  epopee,  in  which  he 
sought  the  truth  only  in  view  of  poetic  effect,  were 
sufficient  to  ordain  a  revolution  in  this  class  of 
studies.  In  evidence  of  this  fact,  we  have  but  to 
recall  the  homage  which  the  author  of  les  Recits 
jnerovingiens  pays  to  that  of  les  Martyrs.  Those 
volumes  where  professed  scholars  had  found  but 
spiritless  dust,  spread  out  a  succession  of  marvellous 
pictures  before  the  eyes  of  the  poet.  And  this  is 
why,  all  things  considered,  there  is  more  historic 
truth  in  the  visions  of  this  artist  than  in  the  laborious 


Madame  cie  Sidel  and  Chateaubriand.         79 

commentaries  or  learned  compilations  of  those  who 
are  called  historians.  Science  attains  exactitude, 
but  it  belongs  to  art  alone  to  grasp  the  truth. 

In  the  pursuit  of  facts,  Chateaubriand  has  displayed 
neither  perseverance  nor  disinterestedness.  How- 
ever evident  his  learning,  here  and  there  in  a  note 
or  appendix,  it  is  manifestly  of  recent  acquisition, 
and  sought  in  view  of  immediate  profit.  The  poet 
quite  eclipses  the  historian ;  indeed,  he  can  even 
be  said  to  consider  history  only  from  its  poetical 
side.  He  is  nevertheless  true  as  a  historian,  because 
he  animates  appearances ;  because  he  lights  up  the 
depths  of  men  and  events  by  sudden  illuminations ; 
because  he  embraces  in  a  single  glance  all  that 
patient  analysis  but  dimly  reveals  to  the  scholar 
through  patient  effort ;  because  he  knows  the  word 
and  gesture  with  which  to  sum  up  a  personality, 
the  significant  detail  which  will  characterize  an 
entire  epoch ;  and  above  all,  is  he  true  in  that  he 
does  not  cease  to  be  a  poet  and  an  artist  in  be- 
coming a  historian.  History,  as  well  as  poetry,  has 
its  muse.  The  muse  of  history  and  the  muse  of 
poetry  join  in  inspiring  the  author  of  les  Martyrs. 

A  virtuoso  before  all  else,  Chateaubriand  pushes 
the  cult  of  form  even  to  superstition.  Particularly 
in  respect  to  style  is  he  to  be  admired.  Although 
the  boldest  of  our  writers,  he  has  full  knowledge  of 
his  audacities ;  he  dares  fearlessly  and  with  convic- 
tion. When  mature  years  calm  his  youthful  effer- 
vescence, this  boldness  is  united  with  a  strictly 
Classical  reserve.  He  does  not  give  himself  up 
entirely  to  his  impetuous  imagination.     He  learns 


8o  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

how  to  moderate  himself,  how  to  suppress  digres- 
sions likely  to  detract  from  the  harmony  of  lines  or 
the  dignity  of  forms.  He  scorns  tawdry  flourishes 
of  style,  for  he  loves  beauty  too  gallantly  to  care  for 
what  is  merely  pretty.  In  all  his  magnificence  he 
has  the  soberness  of  a  great  master.  He  is  the 
king  of  phrases.  He  possesses  the  magic  power  of 
the  verb,  the  gift  of  triumphal  images,  grand  and 
imposing  periods.  He  also  knows  the  secret  of 
number  and  rhythm,  —  in  great  part  lost  to  our 
language  of  verse  since  the  divine  Racine,  and 
always  ignored  by  our  prose.  "  Chateaubriand,"  says 
ChenedoUe,  "  is  the  only  prose  writer  who  gives  the 
sensation  of  verse.  Others  have  had  an  exquisite 
appreciation  of  harmony,  but  always  of  that  of  the 
orator.  He  alone  knows  the  secret  of  poetical 
harmony." 

A  writer  both  by  profession  and  vocation,  he 
brings  a  passionate  interest  to  everything  that 
touches  upon  his  art.  From  the  most  ancient 
writers  he  seeks  rare  and  picturesque  epithets, 
striking  and  expressive  archaisms.  His  Essai  sur 
les  revolutions  contains  one  chapter,  called  "  Night 
among  the  American  Savages ; "  and  when  he  re- 
sumes this  description  in  his  Genie  du  christianisme, 
he  does  not  fail  to  invite  the  reader  to  a  comparison 
of  the  two  selections.  This  is  solely  for  the  pur- 
pose of  indicating  "  what  his  better  judgment  has 
altered  or  suppressed  in  the  second  version."  A 
note  in  les  Martyrs  tells  us  that  the  song  of  Cymo- 
docee  is  the  most  carefully  composed  portion  of  the 
whole  poem ;  that  "  it  has  but  a  single  hiatus,"  over 


Madame  de  Stdel  a?id  Chateaubriand.        8i 

which  "the  ear  ghdes  easily."  Naturally,  he  has 
also  his  faults  as  a  writer :  too  much  attention  is 
given  to  effect.  His  writings  have  a  certain  hollow- 
ness,  something  artificial  and  theatrical.  These 
defects  are  those  of  thought  rather  than  of  style,  and 
generally  arise  from  a  disproportion  between  his 
form  and  substance.  His  ideas  have  not  sufficient 
vigor  to  support  their  expression. 

"I  found  myself,"  says  Chateaubriand,  "between 
two  ages  and  at  the  confluence  of  two  rivers. 
Plunging  into  their  troubled  waters,  I  regretfully 
left  behind  the  ancient  strand  where  I  was  born, 
and,  full  of  hope,  swam  towards  the  unknown  shore, 
where  the  new  generations  were  about  to  land." 
This  expresses  too  little.  However,  he  reached  this 
shore,  explored  it,  and  guided  thither  those  new 
generations  who  did  not  linger  long  in  following 
him.  The  literary  history  of  the  nineteenth  century 
springs  from  two  sources :  Madame  de  Stael  and 
Chateaubriand.  To  the  one  belongs  the  world  of 
ideas,  to  the  other  that  of  images.  Chateaubriand 
actuated  a  complete  renovation  in  the  exterior 
forms  of  art,  in  language,  poetry,  romance,  and 
history,  branding  them  with  his  imprint  for  all  time. 
His  renown  covered  the  first  half  of  the  century, 
and  its  influence  was  prolonged  even  into  its  latter 
half.  Alfred  de  Vigny  and  Victor  Hugo  are  his 
direct  descendants.  Later,  Gustave  Flaubert  and 
Leconte  de  Lisle,  both  devotees  of  art,  sculptors 
of  phrases,  also  belong  to  his  lineage.  For  fifty 
years  Chateaubriand's  name  continued  to  be  the 
greatest  and  most  respected  among  many  illustrious 


82  Literary  Alovement  in  France. 

poets,  all  of  whom  recognized  his  literary  sovereignty. 
No  one  until  Stendhal,  the  precocious  forerunner  of 
a  hostile  school,  a  dry,  fault-finding  sceptic,  paid 
him  homage  with  an  apparent  irreverence  that  does 
not  lessen  its  value.  "  I  have  need  of  imagination," 
he  wrote  to  a  friend  ;  "  send  me  les  Martyr s''  Under 
the  impression  produced  by  les  Memoires  d'outre- 
tombe,  George  Sand  said :  "  Certain  pages  are  those 
of  the  greatest  writer  of  our  century ;  and  none  of 
us,  coxcombs  formed  in  his  school,  could  ever  have 
written  them." 

But  from  the  time  of  les  Memoires  his  great 
fame  began  to  decline  quite  as  rapidly  as  unjustly. 
The  faults  of  character  which  they  revealed,  until 
then  concealed  from  his  contemporaries  by  brilliant 
qualities,  aroused  a  violent  reversion  in  public 
opinion.  They  could  not  pardon  themselves  for 
having  believed  in  a  Chateaubriand  greater  than 
reality,  and,  in  consequence,  made  the  poet  respon- 
sible for  the  vanities  and  weaknesses  of  the  man. 
Moreover,  his  works  appeared  at  a  time  of  literary 
reaction,  when  the  century  was  divided  into  halves. 
Chateaubriand  had  been  the  initiator  of  Romanti- 
cism, and  his  death  coincided  with  the  advent  of  a 
new  school.  This  school  was  absorbed  by  positive 
reality,  just  as  the  preceding  school  had  been  by 
lyricism  and  the  ideal ;  and  it  brought  with  it  a  dis- 
taste for  emphasis,  declamation,  fine  words,  and  false 
colors,  which  resulted  in  condemning  him  as  a  pro- 
digious charlatan. 

Favor  has  recently  seemed  to  return  to  the 
patriarch   of    our  century.      His   name,   which   not 


Madame  de  Stdel  and  Chateaubriand.        83 

long  since  caused  experts  like  Marchangy  and 
Arlincourt  to  smile,  day  by  day  appears  to  recover 
the  respect  which  is  its  due.  According  to  Augus- 
tin  Thierry,  all  those  who  have  followed  the  different 
routes  of  our  century  encountered  him  at  their 
first  inspiration  and  at  the  beginning  of  their  studies. 
There  is  not  one  of  them  who  cannot  say  as  Dante 
to  Virgil,  — 

"Tu  duca,  tu  signora  e  tu  maestro." 

At  the  same  time  his  work  is  that  of  an  incom- 
parable artist ;  and  as  long  as  the  French  language 
lives,  the  author  of  Rene  and  les  Martyrs  will  be 
honored  as  one  of  the  most  marvellous  of  its  crafts- 
men. 


84  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


CHAPTER    IV, 

THE    PSEUDO-CLASSICISTS. 

WHILE  the  literary  reform  is  being  prepared, 
the  decadent  Classic  school  continues  to 
make  an  effort  to  maintain  its  exhausted  traditions  ; 
it  remains  true  to  the  discipline  established  by  the 
seventeenth  century,  failing  to  perceive  that  it  is  no 
longer  in  harmony  with  a  contemporary  society, 
which  is  itself  the  outgrowth  of  a  revolution  eventu- 
ally destined  to  renew  poetry,  after  having  trans- 
formed manners  and  institutions.  During  the  early 
years  of  the  century,  Classic  art  is  but  an  assemblage 
of  sterile  forms.  It  resembles  a  sapless  tree  with 
roots  no  longer  able  to  cling  to  a  deeply  furrowed 
soil ;  its  fruit  has  lost  all  savor,  and,  though  still  pro- 
ductive, each  season  finds  it  more  destitute. 

Considered  in  its  most  general  acceptation, 
Classicism  supposes  a  perfect  harmony  with  the 
ideas  and  principles  of  social  environment.  That 
epoch  which  justifies  the  name  is  characterized  by  a 
free  expansion  of  art,  the  flowering  of  a  happy 
civilization  confident  in  a  security  troubled  by  no 
uneasiness.  Such  had  been  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
At  the  beginning  of  our  century  the  champions  of 
Classicism  still  represented  an  ancient  literary 
regime,    like    all    others    condemned    to    disappear. 


The  Pseudo-Classicists,  85 

After  the  Classicists  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  we  have  the  pseudo-Classicists. 

The  criticism  of  the  Imperial  epoch  is  distinctly- 
reactionary,  and  is  confined  to  an  attempt  to  effect 
the  restoration  of  a  superannuated  poetry.  Though 
daring  in  other  directions,  the  eighteenth  century 
had  been  very  conservative  in  the  domain  of  art 
Even  Voltaire  devoutly  observes  all  the  traditions 
bequeathed  to  him  by  the  former  age.  We  must, 
of  course,  expect  neither  new  ideas  nor  even  enthu- 
siasm for  investigation  from  La  Harpe ;  his  role  is  to 
explain  with  elegance  and  apply  correctly  all  the 
rules  of  French  tragedy  which  Racine  had  carried 
to  the  highest  point  of  perfection.  Certain  impatient 
minds,  like  Diderot  and  Mercier,  had  anticipated 
new  forms,  foretokening  the  revolution  that  was 
being  prepared.  The  first  was  but  a  literary  adven- 
turer, in  spite  of  his  genius;  the  second  exerted  no 
influence  upon  his  times  on  account  of  his  indepen- 
dence. The  official  criticism  of  the  closing  century 
is  personified  in  La  Harpe,  the  recognized  interpreter 
of  the  Code  classiqtie^  and  the  vigilant  guardian  of 
traditional  proprieties. 

When  the  period  of  license  and  confusion,  which 
was  prolonged  until  the  commencement  of  the 
following  century,  had  passed  away,  public  spirit 
tended  towards  reformation.  After  the  Ligue  we 
had  Malherbe ;  after  the  Fronde,  Boileau  ;  after  the 
Revolution,  the  small  currency  of  Malherbe  and 
Boileau.  The  best-known  critics  of  the  times  are 
Dussault,  Feletz,  Hoffman,  and  particularly  Geoffroy, 
a  judicious  but  gross,  heavy  mind,  inimical  to  all 


86  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

innovations.  He  was  so  little  in  favor  of  the  new 
movement  that  he  passed  over  the  liberties  of  Vol- 
taire's theatre,  which  scandalized  him  back  to  the 
pure  forms  of  Racinian  tragedy,  through  Rousseau's 
romances,  with  their  dazzling  glow  and  passion,  back 
to  the  flowing  facility  and  simple  naturalness  of  Gil 
Bias. 

The  spirit  of  the  seventeenth  century,  whose 
inheritance  pseudo-Classicism  claims  to  defend,  had, 
moreover,  become  notably  altered.  We  quite  forgot 
that  the  greatest  of  our  Classicists  were  also  the 
most  audacious.  We  restricted  art  to  the  negative 
qualities  of  prudence,  correctness,  and  a  discreet, 
temperate  wisdom.  The  imitation  of  models  was 
recommended  without  taking  into  account  the  fact 
that  such  productions  were  fatally  doomjed  to  become 
more  and  more  insipid.  Campistron  passed  for  a 
Classicist,  and,  had  a  new  Cid  appeared  on  the  stage, 
there  would  have  been  a  D'Aubignac  to  recall  it  to 
rules  and  a  Scudery  to  rank  it  above  Melite.  With 
all  due  respect  to  masters,  criticism  might  have  been 
conciliated  with  the  new  interests  which  made 
such  profound  changes  in  social  conditions ;  for  by 
enlarging  its  temple  it  would  have  been  able  to 
maintain  its  cult.  Far  from  doing  this,  it  retired 
into  the  somnolent  security  of  its  unalterable  prefer- 
ences, without  a  thought  of  returning  to  their  origin 
for  freshness  and  novelty. 

The  more  talents  degenerated,  the  narrower  be- 
came rules.  Hieratic  forms,  not  to  be  violated 
without  sacrilege,  were  consecrated  to  each  literary 
style ;  there  were  no  more  unknown  beauties  to  be 


The  Pseudo-Classicists.  87 

discovered,  nothing  further  for  genius  to  attain. 
There  was  no  field  left  for  originality  fecundated 
by  direct  study  of  nature.  Criticism  systematically 
discourages  the  most  inoffensive  leanings  in  the 
direction  of  emancipation.  From  the  height  of  the 
rules  confided  to  its  keeping  it  dogmatizes  over 
the  void,  more  anxious  to  impose  its  formulas  than 
to  justify  them,  and  fearing  above  all  things  to  de- 
range an  order  forever  fixed  by  betraying  its  so 
securely  established  traditions. 

The  poetry  of  the  epoch  had  entirely  lost  the  sap 
of  life.  Lebrun  is  the  last  representative  of  Classical 
lyricism ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  rare  gusts  of 
inspiration,  nothing  could  be  colder  or  more  sterile 
than  his  compositions.  His  ode  is  always  somewhat 
stilted,  and  the  fine  words  he  affects  afford  no 
illusion  concerning  the  emptiness  of  his  thoughts 
and  the  barrenness  of  his  sentiments.  We  are 
everywhere  conscious  of  his  laborious  industry. 
His  forced,  strained  genius  only  aspires  to  the  sub- 
lime to  revel  in  declamation.  What  remains  of 
him  }  Nothing  but  a  few  strophes,  which  a  certain 
elevation  of  style  has  preserved  from  oblivion. 
During  these  times  lyricism  becomes  but  a  veneer- 
ing of  brilliant  metaphors,  the  abuse  of  false,  mytho- 
logical colors,  a  feigned  enthusiasm  which  dispels 
all  emotion  because  it  reveals  the  absence  of  all 
true  sentiment. 

The  ode  is  reduced  to  a  simple  rhetorical  exercise  ; 
the  elegy,  not  aiming  so  high,  very  often  possesses 
a  natural  grace,  yet  rarely  escapes  insipidity.  Mille- 
voie,  an  elegant  and  harmonious  versifier,  immortal- 


88  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

ized  himself  by  a  single  composition,  its  only  charm 
consisting  in  a  certain  gentle  languor.  We  find  the 
same  debility  and  the  same  refinement  in  Fontanes, 
who  has  timidly  attempted  to  accomplish  in  verse 
what  Bernardin  had  done  for  prose.  We,  however, 
sometimes  discover  in  him  a  note  of  tenderness  and 
penetrating  melancholy  which  still  preserves  its 
freshness ;  but  there  is  nothing  that  foreshadows  a 
renovation  so  near  at  hand.  His  accents  die  away 
too  faintly  to  be  the  prelude  to  full,  rich  harmonies. 
If  Fontanes  reminds  us  occasionally  of  Lamartine, 
it  is  only  of  the  youthful  Lamartine,  trying  the 
chords  of  his  lyre,  as  yet  not  suspecting  their 
breadth  and  power  of  sonority. 

Comedy  still  holds  its  own  in  the  theatre ;  its 
subjects  and  personages,  borrowed  from  contempo- 
rary society  and  every-day  life,  assure  it  a  freedom 
denied  tragedy.  Though  the  comedies  of  the  Im- 
perial epoch  are,  in  general,  vastly  superior  to  its 
tragedies,  their  lack  of  relief  and  originality  cannot 
be  atoned  for  by  a  pleasing  naturalness  and  easy 
elegance.  The  most  celebrated  are  but  esquisses, 
altogether  superficial  in  observation,  usually  very 
meagre  in  substance,  and  as  feeble  in  style  as  they 
are  light.  Incapable  of  imparting  life  to  their 
creations,  authors  confine  themselves  to  pictures  of 
manners  without  import  or  consequence,  amounting 
to  naught  but  facetious  by-play,  quite  innocently 
affording  amusement  in  petty  trivialities  and  fugitive 
eccentricities. 

Tragedy  deteriorated  all  the  more  that  nothing 
in  the  condition  of  its  existence  brought  it  back  to 


The  Pseudo-Classicists.  89 

nature.  The  poets  of  the  Empire  inherited  only 
the  system  and  theatrical  setting  of  the  masters  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  May  they  not,  then,  be 
justly  called  the  false  Classicists  of  this  epoch  ? 
There  is  not  one  with  a  distinct  physiognomy;  all 
their  works  have  been  run  into  the  same  mould. 
They  everywhere  substitute  narrative  for  the  drama, 
and  reduce  the  theatre  to  discourses  and  descrip- 
tions. In  proportion  as  the  drama  is  played  behind 
the  scenes,  do  the  actors  obligingly  insist  upon  in- 
forming the  audience  of  its  progress.  One  does  not 
buy  the  right  to  witness  dramatic  action,  but  the 
pleasure  of  learning,  by  noble,  serious  harangues, 
how  it  is  occurring  behind  curtains  which  con- 
ceal it  from  us.  Out  of  respect  for  unity  of  place, 
Lebrun  scarcely  dares  transport  the  scenes  of  Marie 
Stuart  from  one  room  to  another  of  Fotheringay. 
Through  regard  for  unity  of  time,  Raynouard 
accuses,  judges,  and  executes  the  Templars  in 
twenty-four  hours.  Confined  by  narrow  limita- 
tions prohibiting  all  liberty  of  movement,  dramatis 
perso7icE  find  neither  time  nor  space  to  develop. 
They  have  no  character  that  is  not  general  enough 
to  be  passed  from  one  to  another  of  the  most  di- 
verse tragedies  with  simply  a  change  of  names. 
They  belong  to  all  time,  —  that  is,  to  no  particular 
time ;  they  honor  all  countries,  —  that  is,  they  have 
no  special  nationality.  Brifaut's  Minus  II.  first 
appeared  in  the  costume  of  a  Spanish  prince ;  with- 
out effort  he  became  king  of  Assyria ;  and  in  both 
roles  was  but  a  conventional  type,  —  a  pure  meta- 
physical entity  with  a  physiognomy  marked  by  no 


90  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

individuality;  a  monarch  from  the  land  of  abstrac- 
tion, deigning  to  occupy  all  thrones  with  dignity, 
who,  like  a  true  king,  nowhere  finds  himself  out  of 
place.  Condemned  by  its  poetics  to  seek  subjects 
beyond  the  pale  of  contemporary  observation,  trag- 
edy is  prohibited  from  being  renewed  by  the  study 
of  local  coloring  and  historical  environment. 

A  renovation  becomes  imminent.  The  close  of 
the  eiQ:hteenth  and  the  beo^innino^  of  the  nineteenth 
century  already  show  signs  of  it ;  however,  there 
seems  to  have  first  been  a  sort  of  transition  between 
the  tragedy  of  pseudo-Classicism  and  the  Romantic 
drama. 

Ducis  had  attempted  to  adapt  the  Shakespearian 
drama  to  the  French  stage;  but  nothing  better 
than  his  imitations  proves  how  rebel  was  public 
taste  to  the  most  timid  steps  in  the  line  of  inno- 
vation. The  poet  is  so  alarmed  at  the  "barbarous 
irregularities  "  abounding  in  the  original  of  Hamlet, 
that  he  declares  himself  "forced  to  create  a  new 
drama."  In  his  Macbeth  he  tries  to  "dispel  the 
impression  of  horror  which  would  certainly  have 
made  his  work  a  failure."  In  his  Jean-sans-Terre 
he  apologizes  to  the  public  for  presenting  Arthur 
"  expiring  at  the  hands  of  his  uncle."  In  his  Othello 
he  does  not  unveil  the  treachery  of  his  Moncenigo 
before  the  end  of  the  tragedy,  taking  great  care  to 
announce  the  traitor's  punishment  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. He  does  not  give  the  Moor  a  "  black,  swarthy 
face,"  but  a  "  yellow,  copper-colored  complexion," 
much  less  shocking  to  tragical  propriety;  finally, 
he    has    his    Hedelmone    stabbed    with   a   poniard. 


The  Pseudo-Classicists.  91 

This  Ducis,  who  then  appeared  so  bold,  seems  very 
faint-hearted  to  us.  The  Shakespeare  he  offers  us 
is  a  mitigated,  edulcorated  Shakespeare  moulded 
into  all  the  conventional  proprieties  of  our  stage. 
It  is  also  a  sensible,  virtuous  Shakespeare,  in  the 
style  of  Diderot.  All  Ducis'  adaptations  are  domi- 
nated by  solicitude  for  a  commonplace,  infantile 
morality  completely  foreign  to  the  Shakespearian 
spirit.  It  is  only  with  the  triumph  of  the  Romantic 
school  that  the  English  dramatist  really  sets  foot 
upon  our  stage.  In  1822,  thirty  years  after  the 
Revolution,  the  actors  who  are  imported  from  Eng- 
land expressly  to  play  several  of  Shakespeare's 
dramas  at  the  Porte-Saint-Martin  are  received  by 
the  scandalized  spectators  with  blows  of  "  eggs  and 
roast  apples." 

Under  the  Empire,  Nepomucene  Lemercier  seems 
impatient  to  try  new  fields.  In  Pinto  he  mingles 
comedy  and  tragedy ;  in  Christophe  Colomb  the 
ship  scene  violates  unity  of  place  by  transporting 
its  characters  from  Spain  to  the  New  World. 
Though  sometimes  rebellious,  he  is,  nevertheless, 
a  Classicist.  Pinto  might  easily  pass  for  an  imita- 
tion of  Beaumarchais.  In  his  preface  to  Christophe 
Colomb,  the  author  apologizes  for  having  trans- 
gressed the  rules  "consecrated  by  the  masterpieces 
of  great  writers."  His  Cotcrs  de  litterature  is  con- 
ceived in  a  narrow  spirit.  Romanticism  had  no 
more  implacable  enemy  at  the  outset  than  this  pre- 
tended innovator.  The  author  of  Colomb  and  Pinto 
obstinately  refused  his  Academician's  voice  in  favor 
of  Hernani,  never  imagining  that  its  author  would 
one  day  be  his  successor. 


92  Literary  Movement  i7i  France. 

Raynouard  wrote  les  Temp  Hers,  which,  judging 
from  its  title,  should  have  inaugurated  a  national 
theatre.  It  is  impossible  to  discover  in  this  work 
anything  that  announces  the  Romantic  drama:  it 
still  favors  a  tragedy  of  tirades  and  confidences,  and 
its  novelty  concerns  only  the  choice  of  its  subject. 
In  vain  did  the  learned  poet  make  a  conscientious 
study  of  his  characters  and  environment.  The  style, 
of  which  he  considered  himself  the  creator,  was  none 
the  less  predestined  by  our  stage  laws  to  an  abstrac- 
tion quite  irreconcilable  with  the  true  historical 
drama. 

Tragedy,  it  seems,  was  first  to  be  regenerated 
under  the  Restoration.  Guiraud  has  his  Comie 
Julien  represented  in  1823;  Soumet  gives  his 
Jeanne  d'Arc  in  1825,  and  his  Elisabeth  de  France 
in  1828.  Both  are  more  or  less  happy,  but  always 
discreet,  attempts  to  conciliate  the  traditional  forms 
of  dramatic  art  with  the  still  vague  and  timid  ten- 
dencies of  growing  Romanticism.  Pierre  Lebrun 
is  the  poet  who  best  represents  this  need  and  in- 
stinct for  novelty,  before  the  advent  of  a  more  sturdy 
generation  boldly  lifts  aloft  the  ensign  of  Romanti- 
cism. Lebrun,  the  author  of  Marie  Stuart  and  le 
Cid d' Andalousie,  congratulates  himself  upon  having 
made  an  effort  to  reconcile  "the  foreign  Melpomene 
with  our  own,"  and  of  having  introduced  "forms  and 
colors  "  which  our  theatrical  literature  lacked,  with- 
out compromising  the  severity  of  our  taste  and 
rules.  In  fact,  he  gently  and  without  violence 
slackened  the  old  Classical  springs,  introducing 
into  his  works  more  action  than  his  predecessors, 


The  P seudo-Classicists.  93 

and  making  a  special  effort  to  lower  its  style  to  the 
simplest  and  most  familiar  tone  possible  to  tragedy. 
Whatever  his  success  in  this  line,  Lebrun  cannot 
be  considered  a  precursor  of  Victor  Hugo.  Marie 
Stuart,  first  presented  in  1820  as  a  triumph  for 
Romanticism,  when  resumed  twenty  years  later  by 
the  Comedie  Fran9aise,  rallies  about  it  all  the  pro- 
moters of  Classical  reaction.  Lebrun  is  not  the 
eldest  of  the  new  progeny ;  rather  is  he  the  young- 
est, the  latest  born,  of  the  passing  generation. 
There  could  be  no  possible  intermediary  between 
Classic  and  Romantic  tragedy.  Marie  Stuart  was, 
perhaps,  a  transition,  but,  as  Sainte-Beuve  says,  it 
was  "a  transition  to  what  did  not  arrive," — to  what 
the  author  did  not  fully  effect  himself,  and  was 
realized  only  in  a  bastard  form,  after  the  triumph 
of  Romanticism.  What  came  after  Marie  Stuart 
caused  a  veritable  revolution ;  for  however  estimable 
Lebrun's  talent,  it  was  not  of  the  material  to  actu- 
ate such  a  renovation.  Only  Hernani's  horn  could 
bring  about  the  fall  of  the  triple  walls  of  Classic 
tragedy. 

Though  certain  of  the  contemporary  poets  at- 
tempt to  revive  our  theatre,  they  meet  with  lively 
resistance  from  the  public,  because  they  have  neither 
sufficient  genius  to  triumph  nor  audacity  to  combat 
it.  Since  Ducis  raised  so  much  clamor,  despite  his 
circumspection,  the  education  of  public  taste  had 
made  but  slow  progress.  All  tragedies  which  did 
not  conform  to  the  recognized  type  were  received 
with  disapproval.  Lemercier's  CJwistophe  Colo7nb 
aroused  a  violent  scandal.     In  order  not  to   have 


94  Literary  Movanent  in  France. 

Columbus  transgress  unity  of  place,  they  renounced 
the  discovery  of  America.  The  tumult  did  not 
cease  until  Napoleon  placed  the  work  under  the 
protection  of  his  bayonets.  Twenty  years  later  we 
seem  to  find  no  less  repugnance  on  the  part  of  the 
public  for  all  innovations.  It  doubtless  begins  to 
weary  of  the  antiquities  with  which  it  had  been  sur- 
feited by  the  pseudo-Classicists ;  but  it  is  none  the 
less  suspicious  of  the  slightest  leaning  towards  inde- 
pendence. The  chateau  of  Fotheringay  is  not  per- 
mitted to  contain  more  than  one  room.  One  of 
the  finest  scenes  in  le  Cid  d' Andalousie  is  where 
Sancho,  seated  at  the  feet  of  Estrelle,  recalls  in 
verses  full  of  grace  and  sweetness  the  first  budding 
of  their  mutual  love.  The  public  objects,  finding 
that  this  retards  the  action.  Reform  in  the  theatre 
was  only  possible  on  condition  that  a  false  ideal  of 
nobility  in  manners  and  language  be  renounced ; 
and  this  is  where  the  public  seemed  to  be  most  sus- 
ceptible. These  two  lines  from  Christophe  Colomb 
aroused  a  veritable  tempest :  — 

"  Je  reponds  qu'une  fois  saisi  par  ces  coquins, 
On  t'enverra  bientot  au  pays  des  requins." 

A  man  was  killed  in  the  scuffle,  and  several  seriously 
wounded.  Shortly  before  the  beginning  of  1830, 
Vigny's  Othello  was  received  with  hisses.  They 
would  not  tolerate  the  substitution  of  the  Classic 
poniard  for  the  pillow  with  which  the  Moor  smothers 
Desdemona.  The  battle  over  Hernani,  played  sev- 
eral months  after  Othello,  sufficed  to  show  what 
lively  superstitions  still  existed.     Victor  Hugo  was 


The  Pseudo-Classicists.  95 

accused  of  having  violated  the  unities.  In  spite  of 
the  excisions  to  which  he  considered  it  wise  to  sub- 
ject the  original  text,  they  still  found  his  drama  both 
prolix  and  tedious.  They  opposed  the  mingling  of 
the  comic  and  tragic ;  they  could  not  hear  a  king 
demand  the  hour  of  day  without  dissent;  they  pro- 
tested against  "those  repulsive  groans  of  anguish 
which  should  be  heard  nowhere  but  in  a  hospital ; " 
they  complained  because  "  the  curtain  rose  in  the 
last  act  upon  the  fairy-like  scene  of  a  ball  at  the 
Opera,  and  lowered  on  a  sight  to  be  found  only  in 
the  Morgue."  A  petition  to  have  this  drama  inter- 
dicted was  signed  and  addressed  to  Charles  X.  by 
several  of  the  poets,  who,  since  the  beginning  of  the 
century,  had  themselves  sought  to  renew  the  youth 
of  our  Classic  theatre. 

At  the  opening  of  our  century  Delille  is  the 
"  prince  of  poetry."  The  greater  part  of  his  works, 
even  those  published  from  1800  to  181 3,  had  been 
composed  several  years  previously.  His  name  pre- 
vails throughout  the  whole  Imperial  epoch  ;  indeed, 
nothing  characterizes  it  better  than  this  universal 
enthusiasm  for  the  descriptive,  didactic  versifier. 
To  his  times  he  appeared  a  second  Homer,  and  he 
was  even  compared  and  preferred  to  the  masters  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  Though  he  is  allied  to 
them,  if  only  through  Louis  Racine,  and  though  he 
attempts  to  maintain  their  heritage  by  continuing 
in  their  traditions,  his  work  strikingly  shows  how 
this  heritage  has  degraded  little  by  little,  and  how 
the  traditions  of  the  great  Classic  school  have  been 
altered  and  perverted. 


96  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

The  didactic  poem,  as  understood  by  Delille,  is 
as  foreign  to  true  poetry  as  the  turner's  art.  It 
gives  place  to  no  human  emotion,  and  its  only  merit 
consists  in  manual  skill.  With  poets  worthy  the 
name,  description  is  either  associated  with  a  per- 
sonal sentiment  which  colors  and  animates,  or  with 
philosophical  conceptions  which  sound  the  depths 
of  man  and  nature.  There  is  nothing  of  this  among 
the  pseudo-Classicists ;  they  describe  for  the  sake 
of  describing,  make  a  trade  of  versification,  impose 
gratuitous  difficulties  for  the  sole  pleasure  of  over- 
coming them.  Delille  has  never  done  other  than 
bind  his  "  choice  fragments  "  together,  bit  by  bit. 
There  are  not  only  springs  and  winters,  dawns  and 
sunsets  (one  should  not  stoop  to  easy  subjects  with- 
out treating  them  each  time  with  new  tours  de  fo7xi), 
but  camels,  tigers,  dogs,  chess-boards,  backgammon- 
boards  ;  the  commonest  of  objects  can  be  ennobled 
by  the  highest  art  without  even  mentioning  their 
names.  Delille  had  a  great  collection  of  such 
themes  in  his  portfolio,  and  placed  them  in  conven- 
tional settings  to  the  best  advantage.  Everything 
that  could  be  pictured  belonged  to  his  domain,  and 
he  was  sure  that  no  object  would  remain  unavailable 
in  his  hands.  He  aimed  at  nothing  less  than  versi- 
fying the  universe.  A  sort  of  rhymed  encyclopaedia 
worthily  crowned  his  career ;  after  les  Trois  Kegnes 
nothing  remained  for  him  but  to  die,  which  he 
could  well  do  in  peace. 

Having  entered,  while  living,  into  his  apotheosis, 
he  became  the  father  of  a  numerous  lineage  of  poets, 
who  had  their  season  of  popular  favor,  even  of  glory, 


The  Pseudo-Classicists.  97 

under  the  Empire.  Esnienard  sings  of  navigation, 
Gudin  of  astronomy,  Ricard  of  the  globe,  Aime 
Martin  of  physics,  chemistry,  and  natural  history. 
Nor  must  we  omit  the  grammars  and  arithmetics 
which  certain  philanthropists  set  to  rhyme  for  the 
benefit  of  young  scholars.  The  source  of  inspiration 
being  now  exhausted,  every  theme  becomes  good 
enough  for  verse.  The  greatest  poet  is  the  cleverest 
juggler  of  rhymes.  By  skilful  execution  he  conceals 
the  irretrievable  insipidity  of  a  poetry  dead  in  spirit 
and  lost  in  knotty  trifles,  —  a  poetry  whence  all  life, 
sentiment,  and  humanity  have  been  withdrawn. 

The  Classic  school  founded  by  the  Renaissance 
endured  for  almost  three  hundred  years.  During 
the  sixteenth  century  it  had  not  yet  learned  to  dis- 
engage national  originality  from  superstitious  imita- 
tion, hence  the  artificiality  of  its  works ;  for  not 
only  their  setting,  but  also  their  inspiration,  was 
borrowed  from  the  Greek  and  Roman  poets.  Dur- 
ing the  seventeenth  century  the  cult  of  antiquity  is 
tempered  by  a  more  intimate  and  profound  knowl- 
edge of  French  genius ;  legitimate  respect  for  Greco- 
Roman  traditions  is  united  with  the  just  appreciation 
of  independence  necessary  to  productivity.  A  close 
harmony  is  established  between  literary  doctrines 
and  social  conditions.  All  the  forces  and  elements 
of  monarchical  civilization  concur  in  the  magnificent 
development  of  art  and  poetry.  This  development  is 
prolonged  until  the  eighteenth  century,  when  its 
decline  soon  becomes  evident.  The  same  philosophy 
which  eventually  brings  about  the  fall  of  the  ancient 
social  regime  prepares  that  of   the  passing  literary 

7 


98  Literary  Movement  in  Fra^ice. 

order.  After  the  Revolution  no  further  illusion  is 
possible ;  art  must  necessarily  harmonize  with  the 
laws  and  manners  of  a  new  society,  and  the  last 
representatives  of  Classicism  are  no  more  than  "  ci- 
devants." 

While  the  spirit  of  innovation  is  being  propagated 
in  every  direction,  conservatism  seeks  to  defend 
consecrated  forms.  In  vain  does  it  invoke  respect 
for  masters  and  the  authority  of  rules ;  in  spite  of 
their  talents,  writers  who  imitate  masters  and  sub- 
mit themselves  to  rules  cannot  produce  other  than 
works  destined  to  mediocrity,  since  they  lack  per- 
sonal inspiration.  They  are  foredoomed,  because 
the  traditions  by  which  they  were  inspired  have 
long  been  exhausted. 


Romanticism.  99 


J^art  J>econli, 


CHAPTER   I. 

ROMANTICISM. 

THE  word  Romantic,  used  to  designate  the 
richest  and  most  extensive  literary  period  of 
our  century,  is  one  of  those  vague,  floating  terms 
which  embrace  ideas  most  at  variance  and  apparently 
least  suited  to  harmonize.  Although  introduced 
into  France  during  the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  only  in  the  course  of  time  and  under  the 
decisive  influence  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateau- 
briand does  it  come  to  represent  a  new  literature^ 
regenerated  both  in  exterior  forms  and  in  its  inner 
life  and  spirit.  The  militant  school  which  hoisted 
the  ensign  of  Romanticism  during  the  Restoration, 
at  first  refused  to  consider  this  the  proper  expression 
to  characterize  that  poetic  revival  from  which  it  had 
received  its  impulse.  In  1824  its  leader,  Victor 
Hugo,  declared  that  he  did  not  know  "  what  was 
Classic  and  what  Romantic  style."  He  regretted 
that  the  latter  word  should  be  allowed  to  retain  "a 
certain  fantastic  vagueness,  which  made  it  all  the 
more  unwelcome,"  and  demanded  that,  if  continued 
to  be  employed,  it  should  be  at  least  given  a  definite 


lOO  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

signification.  Seven  years  later  he  rejoiced  that 
"  those  miserable,  quarrelsome  terms  had  fallen  into 
the  abyss  of  1830,  as  had  '  Gluckist'  and  '  Piccinist' 
into  that  of  '89.  And,"  he  added,  "  art  alone  has 
remained."  Whatever  Victor  Hugo  thought  about 
it,  this  new  art  was  destined  to  persevere  under  the 
name  of  Romantic  art,  also  without  a  definition 
having  been  found  which  would  give  a  clear,  exact, 
complete  idea  of  it. 

Some  simply  constitute  it  the  contrary  of  Classi- 
cism, which  is  itself  defined  no  more  explicitly.  But, 
considered  as  a  pure  negation,  it  will  be  possible 
to  account  neither  for  a  fertility  vigorous  enough 
to  renew  all  literary  styles,  nor  for  an  influence  suffi- 
ciently lasting  to  endure  throughout  the  century 
and  still  prevail  over  all  those  which  rise  up  against 
it.  Others  wish  to  believe  it  a  sudden  invasion  of 
English  and  German  taste,  thus  disclaiming  what- 
ever spontaneity  existed  in  its  origin,  as  well  as 
what  was  thoroughly  national  in  the  literature  that 
issued  from  it.  Still  others,  basing  their  theory  upon 
an  ingenious  conceit  of  Stendhal,  make  all  the  mas- 
ters of  the  seventeenth  century  pass  in  file  before  us 
as  ancient  Romanticists  whom  time  has  classed  or 
classified.  But  if  its  vagueness  is  already  due  to  the 
multiplicity  of  ideas  involved  in  its  acceptation, 
what  precision  could  it  then  have  if  we  attempt  to 
include  under  the  same  formula  the  stately  regularity 
of  form,  sober  harmony,  and  respect  for  tradition  of 
Racine  and  Bossuet,  with  the  passion  for  unexpected 
beauty,  adventurous  temperament,  and  the  spirit  of 
universal  emancipation  of  our  age  ? 


Romanticism.  loi 

The  renaissance  of  spiritualism  seems  to  be  the 
great  force  that  acted  upon  Romanticism  at  the  out- 
set, and  during  the  most  productive  stage  of  its 
development.  This  influence  was  effected  by  uniting 
with  Christian  sentiment  in  the  very  heart  of  a  society 
whose  bonds  appeared  to  have  been  dissolved.  Ac- 
cording to  Madame  de  Stael,  the  distinction  between 
the  Classic  and  Romantic  styles  "  relates  to  the  two 
great  eras  of  the  world,  —  the  period  of  time  that  pre- 
ceded the  Christian  religion  and  that  which  followed 
it."  This  is  doubtless  a  very  absolute  explanation, 
but  it  is  evidently  quite  as  true  as  it  is  profound,  if 
its  spirit  be  grasped  without  laying  too  much  stress 
upon  its  literal  meaning. 

While  those  whose  opinions  had  been  formed 
during  the  early  years  of  the  Revolution  and  before 
the  great  social  crisis,  for  the  most  part  belonged  to 
Voltaire's  school,  the  younger  generation  was  moved 
by  a  very  different  spirit.  They  were  still  pro- 
foundly agitated,  their  souls  being  divided  between 
the  gloom  caused  by  a  past  involved  in  ruin  by  so 
many  convulsions,  and  obscure  presentiments  of  a 
future  still  rife  with  distress.  Underlying  an  incur-, 
able  weariness,  they  discovered  a  vague  desire  to 
attach  themselves  to  some  belief  which  would  bring 
back  the  light  of  hope  to  their  eyes.  A  restless, 
wavering  sentimentality  swayed  the  heart  without 
filling  its  void,  and  oppressed  the  conscience  with-. 
out  satisfying  its  needs.  At  once  eager  and  inca- 
pable of  believing,  these  victims  of  moral  anarchy 
were  impelled  by  an  invincible  force  towards  that 
Christian   religion   which,  eighteen   hundred    years 


I02  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

before,  had  regenerated  a  society  not  less  old  and 
enervated  than  their  own. 

The  restoration  of  religion  by  the  First  Consul 
had  been  a  work  of  exclusively  political  import ;  he 
considered  the  Concordat  solely  as  a  means  of  moral 
government,  and  religion  as  an  able  auxiliary  to  the 
police.  The  re-establishment  of  Catholicism  was, 
nevertheless,  received  by  almost  universal  acclama- 
tion. Not  that  France  became  Catholic  again,  but, 
having  wearied  of  the  mocking  incredulity  and 
barren  scepticism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  she 
turned  joyfully  to  religion,  —  if  not  to  accept  its 
dogmas,  at  least  to  seek  nourishment  for  such  gentle 
emotions  and  ideal  hopes  as  were  necessary  to  its 
existence.  This  return  to  the  traditions  of  Chris- 
tianity marks  a  new  epoch  in  our  literature.  When 
Chateaubriand  published  le  Genie  du  christianisme^ 
his  voice  was  echoed  by  his  entire  generation. 
Though  Napoleon  restored  the  altars  and  presby- 
teries of  Catholicism,  Chateaubriand  reinstated  it  in 
their  hearts.  This  he  brought  about  less  by  con- 
firming the  truths  of  revelation,  which  he  himself 
believed  only  intermittingly,  than  by  pointing  out 
man's  natural  afHnity  for  Christianity,  and  inducing 
those  no  longer  able  to  accept  its  dogmas  to  admire 
its  moral  beauty,  and  experience  for  themselves  the 
peace-giving  power  of  its  consolations. 

The  relation  which  exists  between  the  Romantic 
movement  and  the  religious  renaissance  of  our  cen- 
tury cannot  be  explained  by  believing  this  revival  a 
triumph  for  dogmatic  Catholicism,  such  as  Bonald 
and   Le   Maistre   would   have   wished,  —  a  sombre. 


Romanticism.  103 

depressing  religion,  better  suited  to  tyrannize  over 
souls  than  to  inspire  them.  It  must  be  considered 
as  the  advent  of  a  purely  sentimental  Christianity, 
which  was  incorporated  in  our  poetry,  sometimes  by 
effusions  of  faith  and  love,  sometimes  by  tears  of 
despair  and  even  maledictions,  but  always  with  a 
generous  solicitude  for  that  ideal,  divine  world  of 
mysteries  which  finds  utterance  through  the  poet's 
voice. 

All  the  great  minds  and  noble  natures  of  France 
united  in  this  regeneration,  so  brilliantly  signalized 
by  Chateaubriand.  After  having  begun  with  pure 
deism,  Madame  de  Stael  ended  by  seeking  in  the 
new  faith  an  asylum  from  the  storms  of  life,  and 
finally  dedicated  her  ardent  and  communicative  elo- 
quence to  the  cause  of  reviving  Christian  aspirations. 
The  last  champions  of  the  eighteenth  century  pro- 
tested in  vain  :  dry,  cold  irony  had  lived  out  its  time, 
and  another  era,  with  le  Genie  du  christianisme 
for  its  gospel,  is  about  to  dawn.  A  railing,  aggressive 
unbelief,  condemning  the  human  soul  to  seek  even 
in  magic  and  hallucinations  wherewithal  to  satisfy 
its  unconquerable  fascination  for  the  mysterious, 
gives  place,  if  not  to  faith,  at  least  to  religious  emo- 
tion, to  that  respect  which  is  also  a  form  of  piety. 

In  vain  do  those  who  represent  the  theocratic 
school  accuse  Chateaubriand  of  betraying  the  cause 
he  claims  to  defend;  of  dissipating  his  voluptuous 
Christianity  in  vague  reveries ;  of  reducing  it  to 
poetical  images  and  legends;  of  compromising  its 
severe,  august  holiness  by  making  a  profane  use  of 
it.     He  certainly  inaugurates  a  great  revolution  in 


I04  Literary  Movement  iJi  France. 

art  and  poetry  by  opposing  the  revival  of  Christian 
spirituaHsm,  about  to  give  birth  to  the  new  literature, 
to  a  sixteenth-century  paganism,  now  without  pro- 
ductive power. 

With  the  exception  of  Chateaubriand  and  Madame 
de  Stael,  —  the  precursors  of  a  reconstruction  near 
at  hand,  —  as  long  as  the  Empire  lasts  we  find  but 
a  languid,  enervated  poetry,  —  a  fruitless  attempt 
to  revive  Classic  inspiration.  In  the  confusion  of 
events  the  contemporary  generation  is  unable  to 
resume  its  former  habits  of  life.  The  new  poetry 
which  had  secretly  germinated  in  all  hearts  under 
Imperial  oppression,  bursts  spontaneously  into  life 
in  a  less  rude  atmosphere,  and  when  favored  by  the 
return  of  calm.  Romanticism  is  thoroughly  in  touch 
with  this  renaissance  of  Christian  spirit,  which  finds 
its  great  initiator  in  Chateaubriand.  The  works  of 
all  the  poets  of  the  young  school  bear  the  imprint 
of  Christianity.  Victor  Hugo  considers  religion  as 
the  most  fertile  source  of  poetic  inspiration,  and  the 
highest  form  of  human  thought.  He  laments  that 
*'  until  the  present  the  national  poets  have  all  been 
pagan,"  and  considers  the  Cross  which  "  Chateau- 
briand erected,  overlooking  all  the  avenues  of  human 
intelligence,  as  the  emblem  and  standard  of  that 
poetic  reform  which  is  so  intimately  associated  with 
the  revival  of  the  religious  sentiment.  His  entire 
literary  philosophy  in  the  preface  to  Cromwell,  con- 
sidered the  manifesto  of  Romanticism,  is  based 
upon  a  conception  of  Christianity,  from  which  he 
derives  his  theory  of  the  Romantic  drama,  and  in 
which  he  blends  the  sublime  with  the  grotesque  just 


Roma7tticism.  105 

as  the  soul  is  united  with  the  body.  Lamartine  has 
been  the  harmonious  interpreter  of  an  "  ideal  con- 
fined to  Christianity  in  all  its  tenderest  transports 
and  most  fervent  enthusiasms."  His  serenity  arises 
from  a  believing  heart ;  his  verse  spreads  out  in  broad 
waves  of  deep  water,  reflecting  the  sky ;  its  source 
has  sprung  from  mystic  high  places,  whence  peace 
and  consolation  descend  into  his  soul.  The  plain- 
tive notes,  and  even  the  accents  of  revolt  which  he 
allows  to  escape,  express  the  devouring  anxiety  of 
doubt,  horror  of  the  gloom  into  which  a  temporary 
eclipse  of  faith  has  plunged  him.  Alfred  de  Vigny 
is,  before  all  things,  the  "  singer  of  mysteries,"  the 
painter  of  biblical  pictures.  With  a  brow  encircled 
by  an  aureole,  he  elaborates  an  archangel's  poetry 
in  a  sanctuary  perfumed  with  incense.  Though 
that  impious  boaster,  Alfred  de  Musset,  return  to 
the  persiflage  of  the  eighteenth  century,  his  first 
passionate  griefs  wring  out  despairing  cries  of 
anguish  unknown  to  Voltairian  scepticism.  The 
infinite  tortures  him  in  spite  of  himself ;  he  invokes 
the  God  he  no  longer  believes,  and,  when  his  rebel- 
lious heart  bursts  out  in  anathemas,  these  very 
anathemas  have  the  accents  of  prayer. 

Through  the  influence  of  Christian  and  spiritual 
beliefs,  the  poetry  of  the  century  acquired  a  sub- 
jective character  quite  foreign  to  Classic  art.  After 
the  terrible  crises  of  the  Revolution  and  the  recent 
bloody  apotheosis  of  the  Empire,  men  were  sum- 
moned to  contemplation  of  the  eternal  by  the 
formidable  events  which  caprice  and  the  irony  of 
fate  had  spread  before  all  eyes.     They  turned  back 


io6  Literary  Movement  iii  Frajice. 

upon  themselves,  and  discovered  in  the  sanctuary 
of  the  interior  world  that  vein  of  personal  inspiration 
so  prolific  with  our  Romantic  poets. 

Chateaubriand  had  portrayed  himself  in  all  his 
heroes,  from  Chactas  and  Rene  to  Aben-Hamet 
and  Eudore ;  Madame  dc  Stael  had  made  her  con- 
fession to  the  world  under  the  transparent  veil  of 
the  characters  which  her  novels  placed  before  us. 
Lamartine  had  sung  only  of  his  own  soul.  Alfred 
de  Vigny  frames  his  poems  by  a  remote  horizon  ;  yet 
we,  nevertheless,  divine  his  personality  beneath  the 
symbols  by  which  he  invests  them.  He  can  always 
be  recognized  under  whatever  mask,  —  whether  as 
Moses,  oppressed  by  a  superiority  which  isolates 
him  from  the  rest  of  mankind,  or  as  Chatterton, 
cursed  by  a  diseased  sensibility  which  renders  his 
vocation  the  most  cruel  of  torments.  Victor  Hugo 
is  the  only  poet  of  influence  during  the  first  genera- 
tion of  Romanticism  who  possesses  great  objective 
force.  But,  if  his  many-voiced  soul  becomes  the 
sonorous  echo  of  the  exterior  world,  that  invisible 
universe  which  each  poet  bears  within  has  never 
found  a  more  vibrating  organism.  In  his  novels 
and  dramas  we  have  "  history,  invention,  the  life  of 
souls  and  peoples;"  but  in  his  poems  he  gives  us  his 
own  life.  They  are  love  songs  broken  by  plaints, 
hymns  of  faith  and  enthusiasm,  cries  of  doubt  and 
despair;  the  reflection  of  contemporary  events,  now 
transplendent,  now  sinister;  mirrors  of  joy  and 
sorrow,  sunlight  and  shadow,  —  the  entire  chorus  of 
inward  voices.  And  whence  spring  those  immortal 
songs,  —  Alfred    de    Musset's    undisguised    sobs  1 


Roma  n  ticism .  107 

His  verse  is  of  himself,  his  flesh  and  blood,  the  cry 
that  escapes  from  the  mouth  of  his  wound.  All 
the  lyric  poets  of  our  century  bare  their  breasts 
even  to  the  most  secret  recesses  of  their  inner  life, 
and  the  lyre  that  accompanies  their  song  is  made  of 
the  fibres  of  their  hearts. 

The  sombre  note  prevails  even  in  the  strongest. 
I  see  autumn  leaves  scattered  about;  but  where  is 
the  fresh  green  of  the  spring?  I  hear  the  plaintive 
hymns  of  twilight ;  but  where  turn  for  the  joyous 
songs  of  the  dawn  ?  If  a  few  rays  force  their  light 
through  the  gloom,  they  are  soon  veiled  by  fast- 
deepening  shades.  The  sentiment  of  melancholy 
exhaled  by  Romantic  poetry  was  unknown  to  an- 
tiquity. Virgil  perceived  the  "tears  of  things,"  — 
that  vague  tenderness,  that  sad  revery,  in  which 
our  modern  poets  delight.  These  are,  however,  but 
fleeting  impressions  in  the  poet  canonized  a  saint 
by  the  middle  ages,  and  who  seems  to  have  been 
touched  by  a  light  reflected  from  the  dawn  of  Chris- 
tianity. That  mournful  disposition  w^hich  we  call 
"  melancholy  "  was  inoculated  into  the  human  soul 
by  Christianity.  In  ancient  civilization,  life  blooms 
into  happiness.  Poetry  is  a  triumphant  vocation 
allied  to  the  harmonious  development  and  healthy 
equilibrium  of  all  the  faculties.  It  glorifies  and  dei- 
fies the  forces  of  nature,  —  man's  smiling  domain. 
It  is  the  glad  song  which  youth  sings  to  the  fertile 
earth  and  radiant  sky.  Christianity  denounces  the 
weakness  and  misery  of  men ;  teaches  them  to  sound 
the  night  of  their  heart  and  meditate  upon  the  futil- 
ity of  things ;  mingles  the  thought  of  death  with  all 


io8  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

their  pleasures ;  holds  them  bowed  beneath  the  in- 
finite. All  this  they  find  in  unconscious  nature,  as 
well  as  within  themselves,  in  the  form  of  an  ideal 
dream  impossible  either  to  realize  or  to  renounce. 

The  literature  of  Classicism,  which  was  not  pene- 
trated by  the  Christian  spirit,  is,  like  that  of  anti- 
quity, quite  foreign  to  the  dejection,  restless  languor, 
and  agitation  of  the  modern  soul.  The  word  "  mel- 
ancholy "  was  then  applied  to  an  abnormal  condi- 
tion. At  the  dawn  of  our  century  the  earth  was 
still  trembling  from  recent  commotions,  and  soci- 
ety's uncertain  form  was  concealed  from  view  by  a 
menacing  prospect.  From  the  sufferings  bound 
up  with  the  past,  the  dangers  veiled  by  the  future, 
and  the  ruins  of  a  terrible  revolution,  issued  a  new 
poetry  which  reflected  exhaustion  in  conflict,  fatigue 
in  expectation,  enervation  of  will,  and  discourage- 
ment in  hope  itself.  This  bitter  poetry  of  plaints 
was  first  incarnated  in  Rene,  whose  solitary  figure 
stands  at  the  threshold  of  our  century.  Rene's 
malady  is  the  incurable  pain  of  a  soul  writhing  in 
vacancy,  whether  longing  to  escape  and  flee  from 
self  or  to  absorb  the  whole  universe.  This  has  been 
called  the  "  malady  of  the  century."  We  find  it 
everywhere,  under  all  forms  and  in  all  the  heroes 
of  Romanticism,  —  in  Obermann,  who  sinks  to  the 
depths  of  sombre  contemplation ;  in  Adolph,  whose 
embittered,  sorrow-laden  experience  withers  in  but 
touching  the  flowers  of  life.  These,  with  many 
more,  form  a  long  procession  of  inconsolable  phan- 
toms who  wilfully  torment  themselves,  and,  finding 
pleasure  in  their  own  sufferings,  plunge  deeper  the 


Romanticism.  1 09 

thorn  which  the  world  has  thrust  in  their  hearts. 
Lamartine  is  by  nature  an  optimist,  yet  how  many 
times  he  has  sadly  seated  himself  on  the  "desert 
shores  of  dismal  lakes  "  !  How  many  joyless  pages 
are  found  in  his  meditations,  what  cries  of  anguish 
in  his  reflections,  what  frequent  discords  in  his 
harmonies  !  Alfred  de  Vigny  shuns  mankind  to 
sing  of  his  own  grief  and  to  distil  slowly  that  acrid 
poison,  each  drop  of  which  from  afar  gleams  like  a 
lustrous  pearl.  Musset  is  a  great  poet  only  in  the 
hour  of  anguish,  when,  pressing  his  wound,  he  feels 
the  bleeding  of  an  incurable  love.  His  best  poems 
are  the  most  hopeless,  those  which  the  angels  of 
suffering  have  graven  into  his  feeble  heart.  Victor 
Hugo,  the  most  robust  of  all,  has  also  voiced  the 
vanity  of  hopes  and  designs,  the  sadness  and  irony 
of  happiness,  and  the  infinite  number  of  painful 
things  that  make  up  our  years.  One  by  one,  he 
tears  off  the  petals  of  the  blossom  of  youth,  and  lets 
life's  deep  spring  of  water  flow  drop  by  drop  through 
the  filter  of  events  and  trials.  All  the  Romanticists 
express  the  incompleteness  of  destiny.  Their  poems 
leave  a  bitter  after-taste ;  we  feel  the  nostalgia  of  a 
heaven  whose  fallen  god  is  never  forgotten.  They 
sing  because  they  have  wept,  and  the  calm  of  the 
strongest  is  clouded  by  a  sombre  pessimism  of  brood- 
ing shadows,  ever  lengthening  and  thickening  about 
the  mysterious  path  of  life. 

Weary  of  men,  the  poet,  in  his  hours  of  doubt  and 
disenchantment,  seeks  refuge  in  the  heart  of  nature. 
What  rises  from  the  ea^'th, "  v/hat  he  hears  on  the 
mountain,"  is  a  confused,  discordant  jargon,  a  rumor 


I  lo  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

of  sighs  and  moans  through  which  maledictions  can 
be  distinguished ;  what  rises  from  the  sea,  is  a  sym- 
phony of  brilliant  chords,  a  concert  of  soft  murmurs, 
an  ineffably  deep  music,  with  the  voice  of  each  wave 
spreading  out  in  infinite  circles  to  the  throne 
of  God.  From  one  side  it  is  the  despairing  cry  of 
humanity,  from  the  other  the  exultant  hymn  of 
nature.  Nature  consoles,  or,  at  least,  lulls  Rene's 
eternal  ennui  to  rest;  at  her  shrine  Lamartine  seeks 
forgetfulness  of  self,  in  her  presence  alone  do 
peace  and  resignation  enter  Victor  Hugo's  soul  in 
days  of  mourning.  However  deep  his  isolation,  the 
poet  is  enveloped  by  creation.  He  cannot  flee  from 
itj  for  *'  there  is  always  an  inner  voice  which  re- 
sponds to  that  from  without."  Nature,  doubtless, 
has  her  melancholy  moods ;  nevertheless,  our  sad 
hearts  experience  some  relief  from  communion  with 
the  exterior  world.  Nature  is  man's  confidante ;  he 
loves  her  not  only  for  all  he  gives  to  her,  for  the 
regrets  and  souvenirs  he  has  piously  laid  at  her  feet, 
but  for  all  he  has  received  from  her,  —  for  the  tender 
or  fortifying  emotions  she  has  passed  into  him. 

This  sentiment  for  nature  is  the  most  fertile  in- 
spiration with  our  Romantic  poets.  "  No  one  in  the 
world  hides  himself  from  the  blue  sky,  the  green 
trees,  the  darkness  of  night,  or  the  rustle  of  the 
wind."  It  penetrates  even  into  the  drama :  the 
details  of  rural  scenes  are  represented  on  the  stage,  — 
the  banks  of  a  river,  or  a  park  with  its  terraces  ;  a 
murder  is  framed  by  the  rugged  shore  line,  and  the 
heavens  furrowed  by  lightning ;  the  love  duet  of  a 
serene  summer  night  is  discreetly  lighted  by  the 


Romanticism. 


I II 


moon's  first  rays ;  rocks  and  forests  are  seen,  and 
the  song  of  birds  is  heard.  From  these  two 
springs,  man  and  nature,  lyric  poetry  gathers  all  its 
volume,  and  the  waters  of  both  are  mingled  in  the 
same  current :  man  lends  nature  something  of  him- 
self,  and  nature,  in  turn,  insinuates  herself  into  man's 
heart  by  a  thousand  secret  ways.  The  whole  uni- 
verse is  reflected  in  Romantic  poetry  as  in  the  soul 
of  man,  its  living  mirror,  —  whether  it  be  the 
mystic  intoxication  of  silence  and  solitude,  or  the 
noisy  echo  of  the  tumult  of  elements,  the  rising 
or  the  setting  sun,  a  budding  or  a  fading  flower, 
the  joyous  murmur  rising  from  nests,  or  the  wind 
sighing  through  seared  leaves.  The  woods,  the 
fields,  drifting  clouds,  restless  or  sleeping  waters, 
perfumes,  colors,  sounds,  —  all  these  are  dear  to 
the  Romantic  soul. 

Rousseau  revealed  this  new  vein  to  our  litera- 
ture. He  was  the  first  priest  of  the  cult  which 
contemporary  poetry  offers  to  creation.  After 
Rousseau,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  unmasked 
tropical  nature  and  the  hills  of  the  Isle  de  Fraiice ; 
Chateaubriand  then  took  possession  of  the  prairies 
and  primeval  forests  of  the  new  world.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  lonely  expanse  of  deserts  possessed  a 
peculiar  charm  for  spirits  weary  of  the  convention- 
alities of  civil  life. 

In  the  social  world,  Rousseau  compared  a  natural 
state  of  existence  with  the  miseries  of  a  degraded 
humanity ;  in  the  domain  of  letters  and  poetry,  the 
Romantic  movement  initiated  by  him,  demanded 
from   ingenuous    youth   entirely  spontaneous    pro- 


112  Literary  Movefnent  in  France. 

ductions,  unadulterated  by  the  artifices  of  talent. 
There  were  legends,  romances,  anonymous  epopees. 
The  virgin  odors  of  uncultivated  vegetation  were 
preferred  to  the  subtile,  delicate  perfumes  of  Classic 
flowers ;  enthusiasm  was  awakened  for  the  fresh 
poetry  which  issues  directly  from  the  source,  for 
naive  effusions  of  popular  sentiment  freely  and 
frankly  expressed. 

Sympathy  for  primitive  times,  for  the  heroic  and 
charming  adolescence  of  societies  in  which  every 
candid  beauty  and  simple  greatness  bursts  into  life, 
was  from  the  first  of  the  century  associated  either 
with  religious  influence  or  with  the  sentiment  of  that 
close  bond  which  from  age  to  age  unites  all  genera- 
tions. This  resulted  in  a  return  to  that  national 
inheritance  so  heedlessly  scorned  by  the  Classicists. 

In  the  second  preface  to  his  Odes  et  Ballades, 
Victor  Hugo  questions  the  origin  of  the  word 
Romanticism,  trying  to  discover  what  relation  can 
exist  between  the  new  poetry  and  the  romance  or 
Roman  language.  If  Romanticism  justifies  its  ety- 
mology, one  of  its  most  significant  characteristics  is 
precisely  this  return  to  the  Gothic  ages.  Chateau- 
briand was  its  promoter,  and  le  Genie  du  chris- 
tianisme  might  also  be  called  le  Genie  du  moyen  age. 
Zeal  for  the  early  traits  of  our  national  character 
dates  from  him.  Although  with  many  at  first  a 
mere  fashion  without  consequence,  with  the  Roman- 
ticists it  soon  became  the  object  of  a  fervent  cult. 

At  the  outset  they  were  attracted  sometimes  by 
a  smart  chivalry  of  pretty  pages,  troubadours  and 
minstrels,  anchorites  and  beautiful  chatelaines,  with 


Romanticism.  1 1 3 

its  languorous,  sentimental  romances ;  sometimes  by 
a  fantastic,  infernal  middle  ages  of  dread-inspiring 
legends,  dungeons,  sacrilegious  monks,  and  feudal 
ogres,  typified  in  its  Court  of  Miracles  and  Mont- 
faucon.  Romanticism  paid  tribute  to  the  prevailing 
fashion :  its  leader  produced  Han  cCIslande,  a  true 
romance  of  the  Round  Table;  indeed,  several  of 
his  Ballades  were  evidently  composed  in  the  arti- 
ficial atmosphere  of  contemporary  salons. 

But  Victor  Hugo's  strong,  healthy  genius  was  not 
long  in  shaking  off  these  fetters.  No  one  has  made 
a  more  profound  and  intelligent  study  of  our  ori- 
ginal characteristics.  In  his  preface  to  Cromwell, 
published  in  1827,  he  bases  his  whole  theory  of  the 
grotesque  upon  the  art  and  poetry  of  the  middle 
ages,  —  upon  that  art  which  carves  its  monsters  and 
demons  on  the  fa9ades  of  cathedrals,  draws  its 
friezes  along  the  edge  of  roofs,  unrolls  its  grimacing 
faces  about  their  capitals,  makes  frames  of  hells  and 
purgatories  for  the  arches  of  doorways ;  upon  that 
poetry  which  scatters  by  handfuls  its  exhaustless 
parodies  upon  humanity,  and,  not  less  fecund  in  the 
deformed  and  the  repulsive  than  in  the  comic  and 
the  buffoon,  "  makes  Sganerelle  gamble  about  Don 
Juan  and  Mephistopheles  cringe  before  Faust." 
To  antique  mythology  he  opposes  our  early  national 
conception  of  the  marvellous,  which  attached  a 
thousand  naive  superstitions  and  picturesque  fanta- 
sies to  Christianity;  which  peopled  air,  water,  land, 
and  fire  with  myriads  of  intermediary  spirits  ;  which 
replaced  the  hydra  of  Lerna  by  the  local  dragons 
of  our  chronicles,  the  Eumenides  by  witches,  the 


114  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Cyclops  by  gnomes,  and  Pluto  by  the  devil.  For 
the  monotonous  simplicity  of  ancient  art,  —  that 
solemn  beauty  everywhere  disclosed  by  antiquity,  — 
he  substituted  endless  types  of  the  hideous  in  their 
close  and  creative  relation  with  the  beautiful.  The 
perfect  works  of  Classic  genius  he  replaced  by 
unfinished  productions  tortured  by  the  thought  of 
the  infinite. 

Notre- Dame  de  Paris  is  but  an  epopee  of  Gothic 
art.  Although  the  poet's  irony  plays  about  the  old 
cathedral,  it  ceases  at  its  threshold.  For  him  its 
architecture  symbolizes  an  entire  epoch  of  art,  —  in 
fact,  takes  the  place  of  all  the  arts.  Whatever  degree 
of  aversion  Classic  "  good  taste  "  had  for  the  spirit  of 
the  middle  ages,  to  the  same  extent  is  Romanti- 
cism attracted  towards  it.  Resuming  the  same  tra- 
ditions with  a  perfect  understanding  of  its  spirit, 
Romanticism  further  justly  recognizes  its  inheri- 
tance. It  faithfully  remounts  even  to  that  complex 
civilization  where  all  contrasts  clash ;  to  that  art  at 
once  naive  and  scholarly  in  which  the  grotesque 
skirts  the  sublime;  to  that  crude,  confused  poetry 
through  which  the  sap  of  domestic  genius  freely 
circulates. 

English  and  German  poetry  had  already  been 
renovated  by  the  movement  which  effected  our 
return  to  the  middle  ages ;  and  this  influence  is 
always  evident,  however  national  may  have  been  the 
development  of  our  literature. 

We  have  shown  how  Chateaubriand  introduced 
English  and  Madame  de  Stael  German  literature. 
Benjamin  Constant,  Sismondi,  and  Fauriel,  further 


Romanticism.  1 1 5 

extended  the  field  of  research.  The  need  of  knowing 
what  was  being  thought  and  read  beyond  our  own 
country  was  increasingly  felt.  The  earnest  study  of 
foreign  literatures  had  been  aided  by  the  wars  of 
the  Empire,  and  was  not  less  favored  by  the  politi- 
cal events  which  sanctioned  the  return  of  the  Bour- 
bons under  foreign  protection.  The  literatures  of 
the  North  had  already  made  their  way  into  our  criti- 
cism, and,  when  Romanticism  was  finally  established, 
were  interpreted  with  keen  sympathy  and  intelli- 
gence. From  them  Romanticism  finds  examples 
with  which  to  combat  the  pseudo-Classicists, — on 
the  one  side,  from  Shakespeare,  Walter  Scott,  and 
Byron ;  on  the  other,  from  Goethe  and  Schiller. 
These  writers,  who  were  opposed  to  the  most  illus- 
trious representatives  of  the  great  century,  became 
the  object  of  fervent  enthusiasm ;  and  their  names, 
inscribed  upon  the  standard  of  the  new  school, 
rallied  about  them  the  entire  young  generation. 
At  first  view  it  seems  as  if  Northern  influence  ani- 
mated the  movement  which  brought  about  the 
regeneration  of  our  literature.  In  abandoning  the 
traditions  of  the  seventeenth  century,  French  genius 
appeared  to  be  about  to  violate  its  own  originality 
by  servile  imitation  of  English  and  German  styles, 
—  just  as  the  English  and  German  nations  had 
formerly  submitted  to  Classic  taste. 

Foreign  influence  was  an  undoubted  factor  in  the 
Romantic  renaissance,  for  it  aided  in  inducing  us  by 
force  of  example  to  effect  the  long-impending  rup- 
ture with  the  prejudices  of  pseudo-Classicism.  In 
reality,  Romanticism  admired  English  and  German 


ii6  Litei'ary  Movement  hi  Fj'ance. 

poets  much  more  than  it  imitated  them.  Before 
producing  their  own  masterpieces  the  Romanticists 
first  celebrated  those  of  foreign  authors  in  order  to 
prove  how  genius,  in  scorning  both  models  and  their 
arbitrary  rules,  embodies  those  eternal  laws  from 
which  all  forms  of  art  arise.  Far  from  giving  pre- 
cedence to  the  English  poets  made  known  by  him, 
Chateaubriand  is,  on  the  contrary,  inclined  to  depre- 
ciate them  ;  he  prefers  Racine  to  Shakespeare,  as  he 
does  the  "  Apollo  Belvedere  to  an  uncouth  Egyptian 
statue."  In  making  us  acquainted  with  German 
literature,  Madame  de  Stael  points  out  the  danger 
of  imitation,  and  urges  that  fecund  rivalry  necessary 
to  the  development  of  the  qualities  peculiar  to  our 
race.  To  these  characteristics  we  owed  our  national 
rehabilitation,  just  as  our  neighbors,  when  freed  from 
French  influence,  once  more  became  truly  German. 
The  principal  representatives  of  the  Romantic 
school,  properly  so  called,  have  often  protested 
against  all  foreign  invasion.  However  enthusiastic 
in  their  admiration  for  the  German  and  English 
poets,  the  Romanticists,  descending  in  a  direct  line 
from  Chateaubriand,  always  limited  it  to  a  distant 
point  of  view.  Lamartine  was  quite  ignorant  of 
German  poetry;  and  although  one  of  his  poems 
was  addressed  to  Byron,  it  was  for  the  purpose  of 
vaguely  confuting  without  thoroughly  understand- 
ing him,  —  perhaps  even  without  having  read  more 
of  him  than  he  himself  wrote.  Alfred  de  Vigny 
translated  OtJiello  for  the  purpose  of  opening 
the  way  for  the  original  works  that  were  to 
follow.       In   his    drama    Chatter  ton,    however,    he 


Romanticism.  117 

owes  nothing  to  Shakespeare.  His  lyrical  poetry 
also  arises  solely  from  self.  Although  other 
contemporary  poets  have  greater  force  and  pro- 
ductive power,  no  one  has  a  more  personal  vein. 
In  his  earlier  poems  Alfred  de  Musset  recalls 
Byron,  but  those  which  immortalized  him  were 
written  with  his  own  tears.  No  one  professes 
greater  contempt  for  imitators  than  Victor  Hugo. 
"  The  poet,"  he  writes,  "  should  guard  against 
copying  any  one  whomsoever, —  whether  Shake- 
speare or  Moliere,  Schiller  or  Corneille."  Again, 
"  The  imitative  faculty  has  always  been  the 
scourge  of  art ;  when  one  succeeds  in  perfectly 
imitating  a  great  writer,  his  originality — in  other 
words,  his  genius  —  will  be  wanting."  Among 
both  English  and  German  writers,  Shakespeare  is 
the  only  poet  who  has  influenced  him  to  any  degree 
whatever.  Yet  he  declares  that  he  would  no  more 
wish  to  be  the  mirror  of  Shakespeare  than  the  echo 
of  Racine.  The  German  language  attracts  him, 
little ;  in  fact,  he  has  but  a  limited  knowledge  of  it. 
He  feels  drawn  in  quite  another  direction.  "  With- 
out undervaluing  the  great  poetry  of  the  North," 
he  says,  "  I  have  always  had  a  very  decided  prefer- 
ence for  the  precise,  meridional  form  of  expression." 
During  the  earlier  part  of  his  career  the  Italian 
and  Spanish  poets  are  his  favorites.  He  is  inspired 
by  the  Romancero,  calls  Virgil  and  Dante  his  mas- 
ters, and  places  in  Spain  that  city  of  the  middle 
ages  to  which  he  hopes  we  may  be  able  some  day 
to  compare  French  literature. 

If  our  Romantic  poetry  offers  numerous  resem- 


ii8  Literary  Movement  in  Finance. 

blances  to  that  of  England  and  Germany,  it  is  not 
the  result  of  imitation,  but  rather  the  effect  of  anal- 
ogous causes  acting  simultaneously  upon  three  races. 
In  Rousseau  and  Diderot,  France  has  in  many 
respects  surpassed  her  neighbors ;  but  those  im- 
mortal prototypes,  the  legacy  of  our  great  Classic 
period,  confine  us  to  national  traditions.  England 
and  Germany  had  long  since  shaken  off  the  yoke 
which  still  binds  us  to  a  glorious  past,  —  a  yoke 
which  we  naturally  hesitate  to  cast  aside  only  to 
rush  into  unknown  paths.  While  our  social  regime 
is  being  overturned  by  the  Revolution,  and  our 
active  energy  exhausted  on  the  battle-field  by  the 
wars  of  the  Empire,  these  two  neighboring  literatures 
had  already  produced  masterpieces  in  a  new  art. 
France,  having  regained  self-control,  and  being  en- 
couraged by  these  examples,  pursues  that  poetic 
regeneration  which  she  had  been  the  first  to  prepare. 
This,  however,  is  accomplished,  not  by  receiving 
from  the  North  what  she  had  once  given  it,  but  by 
remaining  faithful  to  her  national  genius. 

That  the  advent  of  Romanticism  marks  a  certain 
abandon  and  freedom  from  servile  routine  is  beyond 
question.  It  is  also  no  less  true  that  Classicism,  con- 
sidered broadly  and  apart  from  the  prejudices  intro- 
duced into  it  by  pseudo-Classicism,  preserves  intact, 
and  even  in  the  works  of  the  most  daring  innovators, 
those  general  characteristics  of  the  original  racial 
type  which  insure  them  against  being  easily  con- 
fused with  the  productions  of  Northern  genius. 
Greco-Latin  antiquity  has  been  absorbed  for  cen 
turies  by  our  education,  customs,  laws,  and  institu- 


Ro7nanticism.  1 19 

tions.  It  has  left  its  imprint  even  on  the  character 
of  our  people  by  upholding  a  certain  ideal  of  art 
and  culture  which  we  cannot  renounce  without 
violation.  Those  of  the  poets  of  our  times  who 
react  most  violently  against  superannuated  doctrines, 
distinguish  between  the  Classic  ideal  which  they 
maintain,  and  the  superstitions  of  Classic  routine 
which  they  combat. 

It  has  been  a  mistake,  perhaps,  to  consider  neo- 
Hellenism  as  a  branch  of  the  Romantic  school :  it 
is,  nevertheless,  true  that  the  new  school  favored  the 
Greek  renaissance,  to  which  a  great  number  of  its 
poets  contributed.  The  pseudo-Classicists  had, 
moreover,  so  little  real  knowledge  or  just  appre- 
ciation of  ancient  art  that  one  is  bettered  by  laying 
aside  second-hand  imitations  for  the  original  sources 
of  inspiration. 

Andre  Chenier,  by  reason  of  his  origin,  constant 
intercourse,  and  even  the  inheritance  of  talent,  is 
the  first  of  our  poets  to  give  us  a  direct  impression 
of  Greece.  His  is  not  the  cold,  colorless  Greece 
of  his  contemporaries  ;  but  a  living,  radiant  land, 
resplendent  in  an  immortal  youth  glowing  beneath 
a  crown  of  roses.  After  Andre  Chenier,  still  un- 
known at  the  dawn  of  our  century,  we  have  Chateau- 
briand, the  singer  of  the  middle  ages  and  of  Chris- 
tian supernaturalism,  also  at  the  same  time  a  fervent 
worshipper  of  Olympian  deities.  Before  the  shores 
of  Greece  he  experiences  an  emotion  not  aroused 
by  the  sight  of  holy  places ;  in  setting  foot  upon 
the  soil  of  Athens  he  believes  himself  contempo- 
rary with  Pericles  and  Sophocles.      Later  on,  when 


I20  Literary  Moveme^it  in  France. 

Romanticism  becomes  securely  established,  the 
greater  number  of  the  poets  in  the  ranks  of  the 
new  school,  drawing  inspiration  from  the  same 
source,  wage  war  against  a  false  Classic  taste. 
Alfred  de  Vigny  borrows  from  the  shepherds  of 
Sicily  the  flute  with  which  he  accompanies  his 
idyls,  la  Dryade  and  la  Symetha ;  Brizeux  is  a 
Christian  Bion  who  hears  the  discreet  echo  of 
Dorian  pastorals  in  the  depths  of  Armorique ; 
Alfred  de  Musset  sings  of  Greece,  "  the  eternal 
country  of  his  vows,"  "  Greece  his  mother,  the  land 
of  sweetest  honey."  The  second  generation  of 
Romanticists  are  not  less  attracted  by  the  Gre- 
cian type  of  beauty :  we  find  even  in  Theophile 
Gautier,  Theodore  de  Banville,  and  Leconte  de 
Lisle,  the  cult  of  a  plastic  ideal  which  delights  in 
the  realization  of  the  purest  forms  of  neo-Greek 
art. 

Whether  Romanticism  turns  to  Greece  or  to  the 
Christian  middle  ages,  whether  it  borrows  some- 
thing from  the  penetrating  melancholy  of  Northern 
poetry,  or  searches  the  Orient  for  light  and  color, 
there  is  one  bond  of  union  between  so  many 
diverse  inspirations.  Its  device  has  always  been 
absolute  liberty  of  artistic  expression ;  and  this 
device  unites  all  those  who  cast  aside  rules  and 
models,  recognizing  no  rule  but  the  truth,  however 
presented,  and  no  model  but  nature,  wherever 
found. 

The  first  purpose  of  Romanticism  is  to  liberate 
art.  According  to  it,  "  poetry  is  a  fertile,  virgin 
land   whose    productions  should  develop  freely,   as 


Romajiticism. 


121 


if  by  chance  ;  "  it  is  an  earthly  paradise  without 
forbidden  fruit.  In  studying  nature  from  but  one 
point  of  view  the  Classicists  had  excluded  everything 
not  bearing  upon  their  particular  conception.  Now, 
the  Romanticists  recognize  beauty  in  all  its  forms, 
and  open  their  temple  to  all  gods.  There  are  as 
many  types  of  the  beautiful  as  there  are  different 
societies.  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  Goethe, — 
all  represent  Genius  ;  and  the  peculiarity  of  Genius 
lies  precisely  in  an  original  interpretation  of  eternal 
beauty.  But,  side  by  side  with  the  beautiful,  there 
is  also  the  hideous,  which,  if  it  exists  in  nature, 
should  also  find  place  in  art.  Rather  than  strip 
the  lining  from  man  and  life.  Romanticism  prefers 
to  mingle  the  ugly  with  the  beautiful,  evil  with 
good,  shadow  with  light  What  we  call  the  ugly, 
it  considers  an  element  necessary  in  a  general 
way  to  harmony  in  the  ensemble  of  things.  In  the 
same  manner  what  we  call  defect  is  but  the  in- 
evitable relation  of  a  certain  attribute  to  the 
whole.  Defect  and  attribute  may  constitute  the 
ideal  of  commonplace  minds  ;  but  mediocrity  occu- 
pies no  place  whatever  in  art;  genius,  on  the  other 
hand,  like  nature,  is  always  without  uniformity. 

Our  Classic  school  had  made  a  "  carefully 
trimmed,  smoothly  raked,  and  well  sanded  garden  " 
of  poetry.  Romanticism  compares  it  to  "one  of 
the  primitive  forests  of  the  New  World,  with  its 
gigantic  trees,  tall  grasses,  luxuriant  vegetation, 
and  abrupt  harmonies."  Opposing  It  to  convention- 
ality, it  prefers  "  Shakespeare's  barbarisms  to  Cam- 
pistron's    absurdities."      Our    Classic    school     had 


122  Literary  Movement  i7i  France. 

confined  art  within  narrow  bounds,  and,  besides 
assigning  special  limitations  to  each  form,  had  pro- 
hibited them  from  encroaching  upon  each  other. 
Thus,  with  individual  latitudes,  each  art  had  its 
own  proper  form.  Romanticism  disorganizes  this 
clever  poetical  code :  it  professes  that  "  what  is 
really  true  and  beautiful  is  so  everywhere ;  that 
what  is  dramatic  in  a  novel  is  also  dramatic  on  the 
stage;  that  what  is  lyrical  in  a  couplet  is  equally 
lyrical  in  a  strophe ;  finally,  that  the  only  real  dis- 
tinction is  that  which  exists  between  the  good  and 
the  bad."  Then  appears  the  drama,  which  not  only 
unites  all  the  elements  of  comedy  and  tragedy,  but, 
as  the  most  complete  form  of  poetry,  lends  itself  even 
to  brilliant  lyrical  outbursts.  There  are  now  no 
odes,  idyls,  satires,  or  elegies ;  but  in  their  place  we 
have  Meditations,  Harmonies,  Orientates,  Interior 
Voices,  in  which  all  styles  are  mingled  and  confused. 
The  titles  of  these  collections  bear  no  relation  to 
the  artificial  divisions  of  rhetoric,  but  arise  rather 
from  a  broader  unity  of  conception  existing  in  the 
poet's  soul. 

Without  overlooking  the  rights  of  reason,  —  rights 
which,  though  reduced  by  the  Classicists  to  a  cold, 
timid  good  sense,  can  never  be  prescribed,  —  Roman- 
ticism restored  the  claims  of  imagination,  in  de- 
fault of  which  poetry  remains  incapable  of  flight. 
The  new  school  found  "  taste  "  to  be  not  only  the 
force  that  stimulates,  but  also  the  poet's  moderator. 
Taste  has  both  broadened  and  humanized  poetry, 
for  it  is  tolerant  and  hospitable,  and  not  so  much 
concerned  in  criticisins:  as  in  findings  new  beauties. 


Romanticism.  123 

As  its  chief  justly  remarked,  Romanticism  repre- 
sented in  poetry  what  liberalism  represented  in  poli- 
tics. It  freed  literature  from  oppressive  formulas 
and  servile  imitations ;  it  gave  poetry  new  breath, 
and  launched  it  quivering  with  enthusiasm  in 
those  loftier  regions  where  it  soars  untrammelled 
by  conventions. 


124  Literary  Movement  in  Fraiice. 


CHAPTER    II. 

RENOVATION    OF    LANGUAGE    AND    VERSIFICATION. 

AFTER  having  profoundly  transformed  na- 
tional genius,  Romanticism  could  not  fail  to 
renew  the  language  in  which  so  many  new  thoughts 
and  sentiments  were  expressed. 

In  interpreting  a  thoroughly  aristocratic  society, 
the  traditions  of  which  pseudo-Classicism  claimed 
to  maintain,  the  language  of  the  seventeenth  century 
naturally  adapted  itself  to  the  elegances  and  refine- 
ments of  contemporary  surroundings.  It  was  mar- 
vellously suited  to  the  rendering  of  delicate  shades 
in  conversation,  curiosities  of  moral  analysis,  and  all 
the  demands  and  amusements  of  social  relations. 
Created  for  the  use  of  the  "  respectable  "  man,  since 
wrought  by  him,  it  converses  with  amiable  grace, 
excels  in  aptly  turning  maxims,  sketching  portraits, 
or  reasoning  out  moral  questions.  It  possesses  all 
the  qualities  requisite  to  ornamental  and  official 
usage,  —  clearness  to  make  itself  understood,  har- 
mony to  charm  the  ear,  nobility  to  humor  the 
scruples  of  a  world  either  ignoring  or  retreating 
from  the  vulgarities  of  life.  There  is  nothing  that 
inclines  to  excess ;  there  are  no  salient  words,  no 
doubtful  metaphors,  no  venturesome  constructions, 
nothing  fortuitous  or  accidental,  but  an  even,  con- 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   125 

tinuous  current,  having  cast  off  all  that  tends  to  mar 
its  limpidity. 

How  many  sacrifices  were  made  to  attain  Clas- 
sical perfection !  In  the  interest  of  this  language 
the  regenerators  of  the  sixteenth  century  had  stripped 
all  provincial  dialects,  again  demanding  from  domes- 
tic antiquity  its  most  expressive  forms  of  speech. 
The  grammarians  of  the  following  age  employed  as 
much  zeal  in  expurgating  the  many  "graftings" 
which  made  so  honorable  a  showing  in  contempo- 
rary poetry,  as  the  Pleiade  had  employed  in  enrich- 
ing the  vocabulary. 

Malherbe,  Ronsard's  heir,  only  accepts  his  heri- 
tage with  liability  of  assets.  His  work  is  entirely 
negative.  He  invents  nothing,  and  perfects  form 
only  by  elimination.  With  him  the  language  of 
the  sixteenth  century  is  corrected  and  reduced  to 
order,  but  by  a  process  of  impoverishment.  From 
that  robe  of  ample  folds  he  cuts  a  faultless,  though 
stiff,  scant  garment.  Further,  Malherbe  speaks  the 
popular  French  of  the  day,  and  the  greater  part  of 
his  reform  consists  in  freeing  the  poetical  idiom 
from  the  locutions  and  learned  forms  which  his 
predecessors  had  incorporated.  He  directs  those 
who  demand  the  secret  of  fine  language  to  frequent 
marketmen,  and  recognizes  no  other  Academy  than 
the  Poj^t-att-Foin  (hay-market).  After  him,  literary 
language  is  more  and  more  restricted,  not  to  the 
use  of  the  "  city,"  but  to  that  of  the  salons  and 
court.  What  it  thus  gains  in  elegance,  it  loses  in 
picturesque  value ;  sooner  or  later  it  will  attain 
purity  and  nobility  at  the  price  of  all  spontaneous 
invention  and  original  relief. 


126  Literary  Movement  in  Fra^tce. 

The  French  Academy  was  founded  for  the  pur- 
pose of  "  modifying  the  irregularities  of  a  too 
popular  Empire,"  of  "  divesting  language  of  the 
filth  it  had  contracted  in  the  mouths  of  the  people." 
This  correct  use,  of  which  Vaugelas  calls  himself 
the  recorder,  is,  according  to  him,  that  "  of  the 
most  wholesome  part  of  the  court."  It  is  believed 
that  the  language  of  the  provinces  is  necessarily 
corrupting ;  everything  that  relates  to  the  schools, 
the  Palais  (court-house),  mechanical  arts,  and  all 
the  realities  of  ordinary  life,  is  therefore  excluded. 
The  translator  of  Quintus  Curtius  considers  obsolete 
half  the  expressions  employed  during  the  sixteenth 
century  by  Plutarch's  translator.  Nor  does  he 
regret  it.  Some  were  too  old,  others  too  rude ; 
some  were  displeasing  on  account  of  the  baseness 
of  their  origin,  others  by  reason  of  their  too  crudely 
evident  physiognomy.  The  conversation  of  "  re- 
spectable "  people  could  be  carried  on  only  with 
choice,  well-born,  harmonious  words,  suflficiently 
general  to  arouse  no  vulgar  suggestion,  sufficiently 
detached  from  the  direct  impression  to  represent 
objects  without  causing  them  to  stand  out  brusquely 
before  our  eyes.  Father  Bouhours  even  refines 
upon  Vaugelas ;  if  they  would  but  listen  to  him,  he 
would  have  that  "  more  wholesome  part  of  the 
court"  reduced  to  kings  and  princes  of  royal 
blood.  Several  hundred  courtiers  adapt  language 
to  their  fancy.  They  refine  and  filter  it  at  will, 
divest  it  of  vulgar  intercourse  with  the  senses,  and 
spiritualize  it  so  thoroughly  that  it  finally  loses  all 
color  and  savor. 


Renovation  of  Language  afid  Versification.   127 

The  syntax  and  the  vocabulary  which  the  gram- 
marians of  the  seventeenth  century  imagined  fixed 
for  all  time,  underwent  no  marked  changes,  at  least 
during  the  eighteenth  century.  Voltaire,  the  leader 
of  a  bold  and  very  active  campaign  against  abuses 
and  social  prejudices,  is  so  religiously  faithful  to 
Classical  traditions,  as  regards  language,  that  the 
most  inoffensive  neologisms  alarm  his  timidity. 
During  the  lapse  of  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
between  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  and  our  century, 
these  traditions  are  modified  only  in  the  direction 
of  an  always  more  exclusive  and  fastidious  purism. 
The  Revolution  triumphed  less  easily  over  the 
ancient  literary  regime  than  over  the  passing  politi- 
cal order.  Our  language  did  not  of  course  remain 
free  from  all  inroads.  A  democracy  foreign  to  the 
refinements  of  the  aristocracy  it  had  supplanted, 
was  inevitably  forced  to  introduce  many  innovations 
in  accordance  with  the  character  of  the  new  society. 
Scarcely  was  the  Institute  established  when  it 
found  itself  forced  to  introduce  into  its  Dictionary 
"  words  created  by  the  Revolution  and  Repub- 
licanism." But  very  few  of  these  words  could  be 
adopted  by  the  literary  language,  and  the  Dictionary 
gave  them  place  only  by  consigning  them  to  an 
appendix.  The  Empire  scornfully  rejects  the  locu- 
tions borrowed  from  the  people  by  journalists  and 
orators.  It  seems  that  the  real  influence  of  the 
Revolution  is  to  exaggerate  further  the  scruples  and 
susceptibilities  of  Classical  taste  by  contrast  with 
anarchical  and  revolutionary  license.  The  writers 
of  the  Imperial  epoch  have  superstitions  and  hesita- 


128  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

tions  which  neitlier  Boileau  nor  Racine  knew.  Only 
with  Romanticism  does  the  Revolution  pass  from 
the  political  order  into  the  domain  of  art,  and  par- 
ticularly into  that  of  language.  Those  of  our  times 
who  attach  the  least  significance  to  the  movement 
over  which  the  new  school  presided,  are  forced 
to  acknowledge  that  it  accomplished  a  veritable 
transformation  in  language,  and  the  most  profound  to 
which  it  has  been  submitted  since  the  Renaissance. 

In  going  back  beyond  the  sixteenth  century  to 
the  Christian  and  chivalric  middle  ages,  the  inno- 
vators, in  respect  both  to  language  and  versifi- 
cation, from  the  first  considered  themselves  as 
disciples  of  the  Pleiade.  We  learn  from  Sainte- 
Beuve,  who  restored  the  poets  of  the  Renaissance 
to  honor,  that,  when  Ronsard  had  been  selected, 
the  beautiful  in-folio  copy  from  which  extracts  were 
made  was  placed  in  Victor  Hugo's  hands,  and 
became  the  Album  of  the  Romantic  "  Cenacle." 
In  this  respect,  also,  there  is  doubtless  a  difference 
of  basis  between  the  ancient  Pleiade  and  that  of 
our  century,  upon  which  there  is  no  need  of  insist- 
ing. The  first,  with  its  rhetoricians,  had  been  pre- 
ceded by  pedantic  obscurities  and  studied  barbarisms 
and  with  its  court  poets,  such  as  Marot  and  Sainte- 
Gelais,  by  sterility  of  form  and  poverty  of  means 
not  to  be  dissimulated  by  an  agile,  graceful  ele- 
gance ;  the  second  inherited  the  two  great  literary 
ages,  illustrious  in  each  style  by  two  immortal 
masterpieces.  Our  Classical  language  had  been 
*'  cramped  "  by  Malherbe,  especially  as  regards  its 
poetry.      It    had    then    passed    from    Malherbe    to 


Renovation  of  Language  and   Versification.    129 

Vaugelas  and  from  Vaugelas  to  Father  Bouhours, 
without  ceasing  to  be  purified,  that  is,  impoverished, 
for  two  hundred  years,  until  pseudo-Classical  prudery 
finally  banished  all  naturalness,  vivacity,  and  freedom 
of  expression.  It  could,  therefore,  become  the  organ 
of  the  new  century  only  after  its  form  had  been 
recast  by  the  innovators. 

Its  grammar,  necessarily  more  fixed  and  unyield- 
ing than  its  vocabulary,  did  not  escape  numerous 
modifications.  Romanticism  did  not  introduce 
entirely  new  constructions,  for  the  familiar  language 
of  the  middle  ages  and  sixteenth  century  supplied 
a  host  of  old  forms  from  which  to  choose.  It 
revived  the  use  of  expressions  scorned  by  our 
Classical  writers,  or,  at  least,  resumed  those  suited  to 
the  analytical  character  of  our  idiom.  Having  been 
the  outcome  of  a  moral  and  religious  renaissance 
first  inspired  by  national  antiquity,  the  young 
school  sousfht  to  discover  the  true  traditions  and 
native  originality  of  French  genius.  They  were 
devoutly  archaeological ;  not  only  were  castles  and 
churches  restored,  but  also  forms  of  language  which 
would  have  been  no  less  repulsive  to  Classicism 
than  the  "  barbarities "  of  Gothic  architecture. 
That  historical  sense,  so  utterly  lacking  in  the 
Classicists,  was  applied  by  Romanticism  to  the 
renovation  of  language  as  well  as  of  art  and  poetry. 
During  the  eighteenth  century  Voltaire,  in  his 
commentary  upon  Corneille,  considered  as  solecisms 
all  those  constructions  of  the  old  poet  not  sanctioned 
by  contemporary  use.  The  innovators  of  1830, 
however,  discovered  in  Corneille  many  of  the   ex- 

9 


130  Literary  Movement  in  Fra7ice. 

ceptional  forms  of  ancient  authors  ;  they  recovered 
all  that  was  bold,  spirited,  and  passionate  in  the 
French  language  before  Classic  purists  had  sub- 
mitted it  to  their  narrowing  discipline. 

These  consist  not  only  in  the  words  used  by 
Amyot,  the  half  of  which  Vaugelas  declared  already 
proscribed,  but  also  in  his  "phrases,"  —  that  is,  con- 
structions and  forms  of  speech.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  century  the  author  of  la  Lettre  a 
VAcademie  was  rated  chimerical  on  account  of  his 
independence.  For  all  that,  he  was  the  keenest, 
most  refined  critic  of  his  epoch,  also  the  least 
fettered  by  the  prejudices  of  contemporary  taste. 
This  writer  regrets  that  our  language  had  lost  its 
former  liberty  of  movement.  "  It  never  dares  pro- 
ceed," he  writes,  "  except  according  to  the  most 
uniform  and  scrupulous  methods  of  grammar.  First 
comes  a  nominative  substantive,  always  apparently 
leading  its  adjective  by  the  hand ;  its  verb,  fol- 
lowed by  an  adverb,  permitting  nothing  to  separate 
them,  never  fails  to  march  in  its  train.  This  system 
also  demands  an  accusative  which  must  never  be 
out  of  place."  Whatever  exaggeration  lies  in  this, 
Fenelon  is,  for  this  reason,  no  less  justified  in  bring- 
ing action  against  the  monotony  of  Classic  syntax. 
Owing  to  this  clearness,  due  to  severe  discipline, 
our  language,  as  written  during  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  century,  was  a  marvellous  organ  of  rea- 
son ;  but  it  was  destined  to  await  the  coming  of 
Romanticism  in  order  to  be  able  to  represent 
troubles  of  heart,  tumults  of  passion,  and  caprices 
of  fantasy.     Romanticism  willingly  sacrifices  gram- 


Renovation  of  L  anguage  and  Versification.   1 3 1 

matical  regularity  to  dramatic  effect  and  picturesque 
expression.  It  does  not  dispose  of  words,  following 
the  abstract  method  of  grammarians,  and  according 
to  their  logical  function,  but  wherever  the  move- 
ment of  thought  or  the  current  of  emotion  naturally 
conveys  them,  and  in  the  order  in  which  our  impres- 
sions and  sentiments  succeed  each  other.  With  the 
Romanticists  our  syntax  permits  the  phrase  a  freer, 
more  supple,  and  more  unequal  development.  They 
recover  quaint  idioms,  unusual,  brusque  modes  of 
speech,  expressive  turns  of  language  modelled  upon 
immediate  sensation,  —  all  the  original  and  unex- 
pected locutions,  whose  originality  shocked  Classical 
minds,  admiring  order  and  symmetry  above  all  else. 
Ingenuity,  fresh  savor,  or  strong,  vivid  familiarity 
offended  its  affected  refinement. 

The  modifications  introduced  into  grammar,  more- 
over, relate  to  style  rather  than  to  language.  Not 
only  has  Romanticism  not  invented  new  methods  of 
.syntax,  but  also  have  a  great  number  of  those  which 
it  attempted  to  revise  been  taken  from  actual  usage,, 
or  never  were,  for  the  most  part,  but  archaisms^ 
ventured  here  and  there  by  writers  who  did  not 
pretend  to  introduce  them  into  common  circulation. 
"  Peace  be  to  syntax ! "  said  Victor  Hugo,  when 
declaring  war  against  the  rhetoric  of  pseudo- 
Classicism.  The  renovation  which  he  promoted' 
was  directed  much  less  against  grammatical  forms 
than  against  words ;  and  the  work  of  the  Romantic 
school  in  respect  to  language  consisted,  to  quote 
Victor  Hugo's  expression, particularly  in  "releasing'* 
the  vocabulary. 


132  Literary  jMovemeiit  in  France. 

This  assertion  clearly  proves  that  the  innovators 
rarely  permitted  neologisms.  The  poverty  of  Clas- 
sical language  was  not  so  much  due  to  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  national  dictionarj-  as  to  the  disdainful 
purism  with  which  a  select  society,  whose  practice 
became  law,  excluded  all  that  might  offend  its  scru- 
ples. Romanticism  was,  therefore,  to  restore  and 
not  to  innovate.  '•  It  is  good,"  said  its  chief,  "  to 
revive  disused  forms  and  renew  old  expressions,  but 
we  cannot  repeat  too  often  that  the  spirit  of  im- 
provement should  cease  here."  In  this  respect  the 
"horrible,  dissolute  demagogue,"  as  he  called  him- 
self later,  is  conservative.  In  the  invention  of 
words  he  sees  but  a  "  melancholy  resource  for  in- 
capacity." The  masters  of  the  Romantic  school 
produced  but  a  limited  number  of  new  expressions. 
Our  literature  was  invaded  by  neologism  during  the 
second  half  of  our  centur}-;  but  the  embellishment 
of  language  during  its  first  half  consisted  particu- 
larly in  restoring  part  of  its  former  richness- 
Romanticism  revived  a  multitude  of  words  which 
had  fallen  into  disuse  for  two  or  three  centuries  ; 
many  others  that  had  been  preserved  modified  their 
meaning  in  a  general  way  by  inclining  towards 
their  more  ancient  signification.  "  Language  is  en- 
riched by  excavations,"  wrote  Joubert,  without  being 
alarmed,  like  the  pseudo-Classicists,  by  the  archaisms 
of  Atala  or  Rene:  "indeed,  languages  must  be 
treated  like  the  fields;  to  render  them  productive 
they  must  be  upturned  from  great  depths."  Cha- 
teaubriand, that  master  of  the  art  of  writing,  had 
given  the  signal,  and  neither  neglected  nor  ignored 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.    133 

anything  that  might  add  relief  or  eclat  to  his  style. 
He  appropriates  not  only  what  is  most  expressive 
and  highly  colored  in  French  before  Racine,  but 
also  in  Gallic  before  Ronsard,  even  gathering  his 
flowers  from  old  dictionaries.  The  Romantic  inno- 
vators followed  his  example  with  sufficient  audacity 
to  transform  language,  and  too  much  discernment 
to  violate  natural  genius  or  falsify  its  historical 
progress. 

Particularly  through  the  influence  of  the  poets,  and 
for  the  benefit  of  prose  as  well  as  poetry,  is  brought 
about  that  renovation  which  finds  its  first  initiator 
in  Chateaubriand.  If  Victor  Hugo  prohibits  neolo- 
gism, he  reclaims  from  the  savory,  picturesque  par- 
lance of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  even  from  the 
Classicists,  a  multitude  of  old-fashioned  words  to 
which  long  disuse  had  restored  the  force  and  lustre 
of  youth.  Applying  a  curiosity  always  on  the  alert, 
and  a  marvellous  gift  of  assimilation,  Sainte-Beuve 
patiently  labors  towards  the  same  end.  In  pro- 
portion as  Romanticism  becomes  more  exclusively 
descriptive  and  pictorial,  does  it  feel  the  need  of 
enriching  its  vocabulary.  Theophile  Gautier — the 
"painter  of  the  band,"  as  he  calls  himself  —  some- 
times resorts  to  the  introduction  of  new  terms ;  but, 
for  several  more  or  less  happy  or  useful  neologisms, 
how  many  restorations  do  we  find  which  have  been 
a  great  gain  to  our  language  !  "  Ah,  my  dear  child  ! " 
he  said  to  one  of  his  sons-in-law,  "  if  we  only  had 
as  many  piastres  as  words  I  have  reconquered  from 
Malherbe!  .  .  .  I  started  out  in  search  of  adjectives, 
and   I   have   unearthed   charming,  admirable  ones. 


1 34  Literary  Movement  iji  France. 

with  which  we  could  not  now  dispense.  I  have 
liberally  foraged  the  sixteenth  century.  .  .  ."  In- 
deed, with  the  Romanticists  this  renewal  of  old 
expressions  is  not  a  work  of  superficial  erudition. 
The  words  which  they  have  reinstated  made  a  treaty 
with  life,  and  most  of  them  are  in  current  use  to-day, 
and  escape  our  attention  or  never  seem  to  have 
ceased  to  be  employed. 

The  introduction  into  literary  and  poetical  style 
of  a  host  of  expressions  banished  by  the  prejudices 
of  Classic  taste  still  further  contributed  to  the 
enrichment  of  our  language.  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  remarked  that  "  the  peculiarity  of  a  man 
of  letters,  when  withdrawn  from  his  books,  not 
long  since  consisted  in  not  being  allowed,  and  not 
knowing  how,  to  give  names  to  things."  Rous- 
seau and  Diderot  had  already  introduced  into  the 
descriptive  vocabulary  expressions  which  had  until 
then  been  employed  only  as  technical  idioms.  The 
author  of  Etudes  sur  la  nature  advances  one  step 
farther  in  this  direction ;  he  says, "  Try  to  describe  a 
mountain  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  recognizable. 
When  you  have  spoken  of  its  base,  sides,  and  sum- 
mit, you  will  have  said  everything."  He  himself, 
however,  wishes  to  do  more  than  this.  From  the 
arts  and  sciences  he  seeks  the  words  he  requires  to 
represent  what  he  sees.  As  description  becomes 
more  precise  with  the  Romanticists,  it  searches 
beyond  the  limits  of  traditional  language  for  terms 
'necessary  to  the  reproduction  of  the  most  minute 
details,  for  Classicism  had  only  expressed  the  most 
general   features  of  objects.      It   borrows  material 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   135 

for  expression  not  only  from  the  arts  and  sciences, 
but  also  from  industry,  commerce,  and  even  from  the 
slang  of  workshops,  to  which  the  abstract  literature 
of  the  seventeenth  century  had  felt  no  need  to  resort. 
The  author  of  Teleniaque  designates  color  but  at 
ten  different  times,  —  red  six  times  and  both  yellow 
and  green  twice.  Compare  the  richness  of  Chateau- 
briand and  the  profusion  of  Theophile  Gautier  to 
this  poverty !  In  the  world  of  forms  as  in  that  of 
tones  —  indeed,  in  the  whole  domain  of  sensible 
life  —  we  grasp  shades  and  peculiarities  which  es- 
caped the  Classicists,  and  represent  them  by  words 
which  they  would  never  have  admitted. 

The  great  rule  of  the  ancient  rhetoricians,  formu- 
lated by  Buffon,  consisted  in  calling  things  by  their 
most  general  terms.  The  particular  term  unfor- 
tunately recalled  familiar  images,  while  the  general 
term,  by  idealizing  sensation,  did  not  detract  from 
the  nobility  of  style.  The  great  writers  of  the  seven- 
teenth century  more  than  once  shocked  the  taste 
of  purists.  However  ravenous  his  dogs}  Racine 
knew  how  to  rebuke  them ;  and  those  who  admire 
the  poet's  boldness  prove  by  their  admiration 
how  little  conformity  had  such  a  word  with  the 
proprieties  of  the  stage.  Classical  susceptibilities 
were  only  further  refined  upon  until  the  dawn  of 
Romanticism.  Abstraction  enveloped  our  language 
with  a  haze  which  stumped  all  relief.     There  were 

1  Mais  je  n'ai  plus  trouve  qu'un  horrible  melange 
D'os  et  de  chair  meurtris  et  train^s  dans  la  fange, 
Des  lambeaux  pleins  de  sang,  et  dcs  membres  affreux 
Que  des  chiens  devorants  se  disputaient  entre  eux. 

Racine,  Athalie,  Act  II.  scene  v. 


136  Literary  Movement  in  Fra^ice. 

no  more  of  those  bare,  crude  expressions  which 
pictured  objects ;  no  more  character  nor  physiog- 
nomy in  expression  ;  nothing  but  a  neutral  back- 
ground upon  which  no  features  were  accentuated. 
Though  one  of  the  first  to  feel  the  need  of  a  reno- 
vation, Rivarol  regrets  that  Voltaire  named  the 
"shoemaker"  in  his  Pauvre  Viable ;  not  daring  to 
make  use  of  the  word  rooster,  which  would  "  suffice 
to  spoil  the  most  beautiful  ode  in  the  world,"  a 
certain  translator  of  Pindar  saves  himself  by  refer- 
ring to  it  as  that  "  domestic  bird  whose  song 
announces  the  day,  and  with  but  the  farmyard  for 
the  theatre  of  his  exploits."  It  requires  a  certain 
amount  of  courage,  even  under  the  Restoration,  to 
introduce  the  most  illustrious  names  of  our  history 
into  the  alexandrine.  A  tragedy  with  Jeanne  d'Arc 
for  its  heroine,  calls  her  a  shepherdess,  then  a 
warrior,  finally  a  captive,  but  does  not  once  dare 
to  name  her  Jeanne.  Lebrun,  the  author  of  Marie 
Stuart,  finding  it  necessary  to  introduce  the  terrible 
word  handkerchief  mio  his  work,  said,  — 

"  Prends  ce  don,  ce  mouchoir,  ce  gage  de  tendresse, 
Que  pour  toi  de  ses  mains  a  brode  ta  maitresse." 

The  precautions  which  the  poet  employed  in  barb- 
ing an  incongruous  word  with  a  double  cuirass  of 
periphrases  were  of  no  avail  whatever;  even  in  the 
hands  of  a  queen,  a  handkerchief,  however  finely 
embroidered,  horrified  those  before  whom  the  work 
was  read.  "  With  clasped  hands  they  besought  me 
to  alter  these  dangerous  expressions,  which  would 
only  serve  to  make  the  whole  audience  laugh  at  the 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.    I'l^'^ 

most  pathetic  moments,"  said  Lebrun.  "  I  wrote 
this  tissued  We  know  what  a  tumult  Alfred  de 
Vigny  aroused  ten  years  later  when  he  had  the 
courage  to  launch  the  very  word  which  the  author 
of  Marie  Stuart  had  resigned  himself  to  efface.  At 
the  first  representation  of  le  Cid  d Andalousie  in 
1825,  the  word  chambre  excited  comment  in  the 
audience,  and  the  Globe  was  forced  to  recall 
Racine's  line,  — 

"  De  princes  e'gorges  la  chambre  e'tait  remplie." 

Thus  the  public  of  the  times  no  longer  found  the 
style  of  Atalie  sufficiently  noble.  Nothing  remained 
of  the  language  of  the  ancient  masters  but  expedient 
phrases,  ready-made  locutions,  commonplace  hemi- 
stiches, a  rhetorical  garden  of  artificial  flowers 
which,  at  least,  possessed  the  merit  of  never  fading. 
It  was,  indeed,  time  that  the  Romantic  generation 
should  reanimate  our  language,  give  it  color,  body, 
and  savor,  and  substitute  figures  for  abstractions, 
proper  words  for  periphrases,  the  pictorial  for  the 
descriptive. 

This  was  Victor  Hugo's  great  work.  He  brought 
about  a  revolution  in  the  vocabulary  corresponding 
to  that  which  had  transformed  civil  society  thirty 
years  earlier.  In  a  celebrated  work  he  represented 
himself  as  the  Danton  and  Robespierre  of  a  new 
ninety-three.  He  placed  a  "  bonnet  rouge  "  upon  the 
old  dictionary,  and  proclaimed  the  equality  of  words. 
Nobility  and  vulgarity  do  not  exist  in  words,  which 
are  only  the  simple  signs  of  ideas,  but  in  the  ideas 
which    these    words    represent.     Therefore,  as    the 


138  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

sovereign  law  of  art  consists  in  the  accord  of 
thought  and  expression,  the  proper  word  is  always 
sufficiently  noble.  In  declaring  that  there  are  no 
castes  in  the  republic  of  words,  access  was  given  to 
all  those  which  Classic  contempt  had  until  then 
rejected.  At  the  same  time  it  reanimated  style  as 
well  as  increased  by  tenfold  the  wealth  of  the 
vocabulary.     When  Victor  Hugo  says, — 

"...  Pas  de  mot  ou  I'id^e  au  front  pur 
Ne  puisse  se  poser,  tout  humide  d'azur," 

he  opens  a  whole  storehouse  of  words  which  renew 
language.  These  words,  excluded  by  "  noble  style," 
are  precisely  the  most  significant.  They  are  in 
immediate  contact  with  objects,  cause  them  to  rise 
before  our  eyes,  and  represent  not  an  abstract, 
colorless  definition,  but  a  real,  living  image. 

Romanticism  renewed  versification  no  less 
thoroughly  than  language.  It  multiplied  metres, 
restored  rhymes,  and  made  our  monotonous  alexan- 
drine the  most  flexible,  most  expressive  instrument 
of  versification.^ 

Malherbe,  applying  the  same  conservatism  to 
the  reform  of  versification  as  to  that  of  language,  had 
selected  the  most  simple  and  regular  from  the 
numberless  metres    employed    by  Ronsard  and  the 

1  With  M.  Pellissier's  approval  the  translator  has  illustrated  his 
analysis  of  the  evolution  of  the  alexandrine  during  the  nineteenth 
century,  —  otherwise  obscure  to  many  English  readers,  —  by  adding  to 
examples  selected  from  the  Classicists  such  as  will  show  what  altera- 
tions were  introduced  into  its  form  by  the  Romanticists. 


Renovation  of  Language  and   Versification.   1 39 

Pleiade;  these  amply  sufficed  his  haughty,  though 
rather  rigid  and  indigent  genius.  The  two  Classi- 
cal centuries  were,  moreover,  quite  satisfied  with 
them.  Poets  like  Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau  or  Le 
Franc  de  Pompignan  were  neither  sufficiently  ar- 
dent nor  original  in  inspiration  to  feel  cramped  by 
these  consecrated  forms.  Upon  this  model  their 
rhetoric  measured  out  its  cold  apostrophes  and 
prosopopoeia  made  to  order.  Romanticism  quick- 
ened the  form  as  well  as  the  matter  of  poetry.  Im- 
agination was  strengthened ;  abundant  springs  of 
sentiment  burst  forth  ;  a  generous  lyricism  shat- 
tered accepted  models.  Versification  was  then 
enriched  by  most  skilful,  harmonious,  and  pictur- 
esque rhythmical  combinations.  Not  that  the  Ro- 
manticists created  many  strophes  ;  but  they  resumed 
those  employed  by  the  poets  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, whom  they  were  pleased  to  recognize  as  their 
forefathers.  In  this  field,  as  with  syntax  or  the  vo- 
cabulary, they  restored  much  more  than  they  origi- 
nated. Sainte-Beuve  states  that  Victor  Hugo,  the 
initiator  of  the  renovation  of  versification  as  well 
as  that  of  language,  has  been  the  greatest  inventor 
of  metres  French  poetry  has  had  since  Ronsard. 
Victor  Hugo  has  really  only  invented  the  verse  of 
eleven  lines,  in  which  the  eight  last  lines  form 
two  groups  of  three  feminine  rhymes,  each  followed 
by  one  masculine  rhyme.  Though  our  poetry 
before  Malherbe  was  rich  enough  in  stanzas  of 
all  kinds  to  express  the  most  diverse  of  sentiments 
and  all  the  caprices  of  the  imagination.  Romanticism 
brousrht  to   the  forms  it  restored  a  science  in  com- 


140  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

position  which  the  most  delicate  artist  of  the  Re- 
naissance would  have  envied. 

Rhyme  was  regenerated  by  the  young  school 
which  had  enriched  its  letter  and  invigorated  its 
spirit;  with  its  different  combinations  it  had  fur- 
nished Romantic  lyricism  with  an  infinitude  of 
strophes,  some  new,  though  the  greater  part 
restorations  from  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  great  Classicists  considered  it  as  a  secondary 
element  of  versification ;  they  only  employed  it 
to  render  more  evident  the  end  of  metrical  unity. 
It  becomes  still  more  enfeebled  during  the  eighteenth 
century,  when  poets  find  it  but  a  troublesome  ob- 
ligation to  be  discharged  as  best  they  could.  When 
their  rhymes  are  not  commonplace,  they  are  in- 
exact. 

The  enriching  of  the  vocabulary  gave  new  power 
to  the  Romantic  movement.  The  Romanticists 
not  only  demanded  a  fulness  of  sound  un- 
known to  our  poetry  for  two  centuries,  but  they 
also  banished  from  words  related  by  mutual  con- 
formity the  too  simple  homophonies  abused  by 
the  pseudo-Classicists.  This  double  reform,  in- 
spired by  a  just  and  refined  sentiment  for  art,  did 
not  long  continue  free  from  all  excess.  Instead  of 
considering  rhyme  but  a  more  accentuated  rhythm, 
the  Romanticists  of  the  second  generation,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  third,  gave  it  a  preponderating  role. 
Indeed,  the  entire  alexandrine  was  submitted  to  it. 
They  freely  exaggerated  gratuitous  difficulties, 
and  triumphed  in  making  as  many  consonant  let- 
ters  as    possible   fall    at    the   end    of    lines,    or    in 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.    141 

associating  words  that  seemed  to  exclude  one 
another.  That  the  school  ended  in  puerile  refine- 
ments is  no  reason  for  overlooking  what  was  neces- 
sary and  legitimate  in  the  reform  brought  about 
by  its  real  masters.  Victor  Hugo,  its  principal 
instigator,  only  abused  his  skill  in  certain  archaical 
fantasies,  or  in  that  purely  descriptive  and  pic- 
torial style,  the  greatest  merit  of  which  lies  in  an 
irreproachable  perfection  of  form.  A  just  measure 
existed  between  the  poverty  of  the  pseudo-Classicists 
and  the  prodigality  of  our  contemporary  rhymers,  and 
Romanticism  only  overstepped  this  at  its  decline. 
It  perfected  our  versification  by  divesting  it  of  in- 
sufficient rhymes  which  do  not  fill  the  ear,  and  com- 
monplace rhymes  which  do  not  satisfy  the  mind, 
also  by  demanding  both  rich  sounds  to  set  off  the 
rhythm  and  words  expressive  enough  to  sustain  it. 

The  strengthening  of  rhyme  was,  moreover,  but 
an  inevitable  consequence  of  the  attacks  which  Ro- 
manticism directed  against  Classical  symmetry.  It 
was  necessary  that  rhyme  should  be  rich  enough 
to  sustain  the  sensation  of  measure,  so  often  trou- 
bled by  contretemps.  Victor  Hugo  and  his  dis- 
ciples profoundly  altered  the  interior  construction 
of  the  alexandrine  as  transmitted  to  them  by 
the  Classical  school.  The  Pleiade  had  preceded 
them  ;  but  it  was  very  far  from  bringing  the  same 
rhythmical  science  into  the  construction  of  lines  as 
into  the  different  combinations  of  rhymes  and 
metres.  The  poets  of  the  sixteenth  century  too 
often  took  liberties,  leaving  the  cadence  of  their 
alexandrines    to  chance    and    readily  running   one 


142  Literary  Movement  in  Fra7tce. 

line  upon  another.  Malherbe^  definitely  estab- 
lished a  pause  at  the  end  of  each  hemistich.  The 
Classical  alexandrine,  after  him  maintained  in  its 
severity  by  Boileau,"  juxtaposes  two  fragments  of  six 
syllables  in  a  single  metrical  unity  which  the  final 
pause  rigorously  separates  from  the  following. 
These  two  fragments  are  almost  independent  of 
each  other,  and  cannot  apparently  join  hands  over 
the  cassural  pause. 

The  symmetry  of  such  a  line  is  in  accord  with 
the  character  of  a  society  in  firmer  equilibrium  than 
our  own,  and  with  the  harmonious  nobility  of 
Classic  art.  The  characters,  the  Phedres  and 
Orestes,  placed  on  the  stage  by  Racine,  the  most 
impassioned  poet  and  most  daring  versifier  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  preserve  a  regard  for  the  pro- 
prieties of  verse  even  in  the  most  violent  outbursts 
of  the  heart  and  the  reason.  Racine  is  no  more 
tempted  to  break  the  rhythm  of  his  line  than  to 
force  or  to  overcharge  his  language.  The  various 
changes  which  the  alexandrine  has  undergone,  as 
well  as  the  general  character  of  contemporary  litera- 
ture, are  to  be  explained  by  the  condition  of  our 

'  Rendez-vous  k  vous-meme,  [  assurez  votre  crainte, 
Et  de  votre  vertu  |  recevez  ce  conseil, 
Que  souffrir  sans  murmure  |  est  le  seul  appareil 
Qui  peut  gudrir  I'ennui  |  dont  vous  etes  atteinte. 

Malherbe,  Poisies, 

-  Par  ce  sage  ecrivain  |  la  langue  rdparde 
N'offrit  plus  rien  de  rude  |  h.  I'oreille  dpurde, 
Les  stances  avec  grace  |  apprirent  ^  tomber, 
Et  le  vers  sur  le  vers  |  n'osa  plus  enjamber. 

Boileau,  VArt poetiqite,  Chant  I. 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   143 

complex,  mobile  society,  —  by  what  is  more  excitable 
and  less  well  regulated  in  our  moral  temperament. 
The  regular  oscillation  of  the  Classical  line  could 
not  be  adapted  to  Romantic  poetry,  which,  at  the 
outset,  consisted  in  effusions  of  the  heart,  —  the 
bursting  forth  of  the  transports  of  passion.  Mod- 
ern versification  finds  more  expressive  rhythms  in 
accordance  wuth  a  more  vivid  and  spontaneous 
sensibility. 

The  evolution  of  the  alexandrine  has  been  caused 
by  an  increasingly  marked  antagonism  between 
these  two  equally  inherent  needs  of  the  human 
mind,  —  symmetry,  upon  which  all  versification  what- 
ever is  founded ;  and  a  variety,  in  which  ideas  and 
sentiments  find  no  rhythmical  expression.  In  giving 
full  satisfaction  to  one  or  the  other  of  these  two 
needs,  in  one  case  an  insufferable  monotony  would 
be  the  result,  in  the  other  the  complete  destruction 
of  all  poetical  language.  Without  neglecting  what 
it  owed  to  symmetry,  our  modern  alexandrine  gradu- 
ally developed  better  means  of  expression  by  grave 
disturbances  in  the  regularity  of  its  rhythm. 

The  ideal  type  of  the  line  of  twelve  syllables 
exacts  a  perfect  equality  and  harmony  between  its 
logical  as  well  as  its  rhythmical  elements.  It  is 
divided  into  four  equal  fragments  separated  by  a 
disjunctive   pause  which   marks   the  end   of  each.^ 

^  II  commit  |  son  erreur ;  j  occupe  de  sa  crainte, 
II  laissa  |  pour  son  fils  ]  ^chapper  |  quelque  plainte, 
Et  voulut,  I  mais  trop  tard,  |  assembler  |  ses  amis. 

Racine,  Britantt.,  IV.  11. 

The  logical  cohesion  is,  however,  stronger  between  the  elements  of 
the  hemistich  than  between  the  hemistichs.  —  Tr. 


144  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

This  formula,  we  know,  has  never  been  employed 
to  the  exclusion  of  others ;  but  whatever  alteration 
it  submits,  is  directed  against  absolute  symmetry. 

While  the  normal  alexandrine  is  composed  of 
four  independent  fragments,  the  Classical  alexan- 
drine has  but  two  binding  pauses,  —  one  at  the 
sixth,  and  the  other  at  the  twelfth  syllable.^  It 
maintains  the  equality  of  both  hemistichs,  but 
each  of  these  may  be  divided  into  two  unequal 
portions.  Hence  we  have  several  new  formulas 
which,  to  a  certain  degree,  satisfy  the  requirements 
of  variety  and  expression.  These  new  formulas  of 
evidently  discordant  rhythm  are,  for  the  most  part, 
as  often  found  in  the  poets  of  the  seventeenth 
century  as  those  of  perfectly  concordant  rhythm. 
The  normal  line  always  returns  at  brief  intervals  to 
give  the  ear  the  complete  sensation  of  symmetry ; 
but,  in  reality,  the  poet's  liberty  as  regards  this  is 
limited  by  no  restrictions,  and  he  can  vary  the 
rhythmical  combinations  of  the  interior  of  each 
hemistich  according  to  his  fancy. 

Alterations  advanced  no  farther  until  the  coming 
of  Romanticism,  or,  at  least,  until  the  appearance  of 
Andre  Chenier,  who  preceded  it  in  this  respect,  and 
announced  it  in  many  others.  However,  with  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  particularly  with  Racine, 
we  note  a  very  marked  tendency  to  introduce  more 
variety  into  metre  by  weakening  the  cassural  and 
even  the  final  pause.  It  is  true  that  these  abnormal 
extensions  of  the  rhythmical  period  were  commonly 

^  Mes  plaintes  ont  deja  |  precede  vos  murmures. 

Racine,  Britann.,  I.  3. 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   145 

considered  as  defects.  The  utterance  of  actors  is 
the  best  proof.  They  brought  all  alexandrines  back 
to  the  severely  Classical  type  by  strongly  marking 
the  end  of  both  the  hemistich  and  line,  even  when 
the  sense  might  sufifer.  Though  examples  of  these 
perturbations  are  quite  rare,  they  must,  neverthe- 
less, be  considered  as  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the 
freedom  of  contemporary  versification. 

In  the  Romantic  alexandrine  the  accent  upon  the 
sixth  syllable  is  not  considered  as  the  obligatory 
place  of  repose ;  consequently  no  fixed  rule  now  pre- 
determines the  arrangement  of  metrical  unity.  The 
accent  upon  the  twelfth  syllable  necessarily  demands 
no  pause  in  the  sense  ;  therefore,  liberty  of  combina- 
tion extends  to  the  entire  distich.  In  the  first  case 
there  is  an  interior  overlapping ;  ^  in  the  second,  the 
lapping  of  one  line  upon  another.^  These  two 
changes  transformed  the  Classical  alexandrine. 
Profoundly  altering  its  equilibrium,  they  at  the  same 

^  C'est  un  vivant  |  qui  n'est  ni  stryge  |  ni  lemure. 
Gdant  possible,  |  encor  cache  |  dans  I'embryon. 
Et  Ton  vit  poindre  |  aux  yeux  du  fau  ne  la  clarte. 
La  terre  et  rhomme,  |  acteur  fdroce  |  ou  vil  t^moin. 
Son  front  saignait ;  |  son  ceil  pendait ;  |  dans  le  genet. 
Heureux  d'e|tre,  joyeux  d'aimer,  |  ivres  de  voir. 
Ce  chef-d'oeuv|re  du  Dieu  vivant,  |  I'avoir  ddtruit. 
Et  lui  seul  1  a  ce  nom  sacre :  |  commencement. 

Victor  Hugo,  Legende  des  siecles. 

2  Ah  !  jette  loin  de  toi  ce  philtre  !  —  Ma  raison 
S'egare.     Arrete  !     Hdlas  !  mon  don  Juan,  ce  poison 
Est  vivant ! 

Ibid.,  Hernani,  Act  V.  scene  vi. 
.     .     .     Un  rocher 
Se  fut  attendri  rien  qu'en  la  voyant  marcher. 

Ibid.,  Legende  des  siecles. 
10 


146  Literary  Movement  in  Fra7ice. 

time  offered  the  poet  inexhaustible  resources,  and 
permitted  him  to  express  all  the  emotions  of  the 
heart  by  rhythm.  Whether  in  the  middle  or  at 
the  end  of  the  line,  overlapping  has  often  a  local, 
determined  effect;  but  this  effect  may  also  only 
result  in  the  perturbation  of  the  rhythm.  But 
in  passion  couplets,  for  instance,  the  poetic  phrase 
rebels  against  all  regularity:  it  halts  abruptly,  ad- 
vances precipitately;  it  has  tremors  and  saccades, 
and  knows  no  other  measure  than  the  poet's 
emotion. 

The  license  allowed  in  doing  away  with  caesuras 
certainly  presents  many  dangers.  The  more  precise 
and  numerous  are  the  mechanical  rules  of  versifica- 
tion, the  more  is  the  poet  cramped  in  the  making  of 
verse ;  but  the  better  sustained  is  his  work  when  his 
lines  are  once  constructed.  On  the  contrary,  the 
more  latitude  permitted  to  ear  and  taste,  the  simpler 
becomes  verse  writing ;  but  the  more  his  lines  risk 
abortion,  if  he  does  not  possess  the  instinct  of  rhythm 
and  harmony.  Particularly  on  account  of  the  facili- 
ties accorded  the  poet  of  the  day,  do  the  gods  per- 
mit of  no  mediocrity,  but  abandon  him  hopelessly 
to  his  inferiority. 

To  poets  like  Malherbe  and  Boileau  the  discordant 
rhythms  of  modern  versification  would  certainly  have 
seemed  worthy  of  barbarians.  Even  in  our  age  was 
the  Romantic  alexandrine  considered  a  monstrous 
perversion  by  their  late  disciples.  Accustomed  to 
lift  and  drop  alternately  the  two  hemistichs  of  both 
sides  of  the  caesura  by  a  perfectly  regular  movement, 
like  the  two  plates  of  scales,  they  were  disconcerted 


Renovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   147 

by  every  slight  oscillation,  and  thought  the  scales 
"crazy."  But  the  most  Classical  of  Classicists, 
Malherbe  and  Boileau,  had  swerved  from  absolute 
symmetry;  and  we  find  in  their  versification  the 
first  traces  of  the  evolution  of  the  alexandrine, 
which  was  to  proceed  by  gradually  and  sensibly 
altering  concordant  rhythm,  enlarging  the  period, 
and  complicating  rhythmical  combinations.  Herein 
lies  a  general  law  applying  to  all  arts.  What  would 
Lulli  think  of  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies  ? 
Lacking  other  reasons,  the  perfecting  of  our  organs 
would  further  explain  these  infractions  upon  the 
noble  and  harmonious  simplicity  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  In  more  complex  affinities  we  have  dis- 
covered a  mysterious  charm  which  escaped  the 
ears  of  our  ancestors.  According  to  these  har- 
monies, we  combine  expressive  and  picturesque 
rhythms  which  would  have  irritated  them  even  to 
suffering. 

The  discordances  of  Romanticism  are,  moreover, 
for  the  most  part,  and  should  only  be,  accidental. 
By  uniting  all  the  various  alterations  in  rhythm 
which  we  find  among  the  modern  poets,  —  however 
employed  by  them  only  with  discretion, —  and  admit- 
ting as  regular  what  is  but  a  sort  of  license  justified 
by  the  effect  produced,  we  should  have  pure  prose 
as  the  result.  By  means  of  discordance  in  rhythm, 
poetical  language  is  free  to  follow  all  the  inflections 
of  sentiment;  and  the  course  of  the  phrase  is  some- 
times broken  into  short,  condensed,  breathless  waves, 
sometimes  rolls  on  with  the  grandeur  of  a  vast  river 
of  periods.     Let  us  not  forget,  however,  that  the 


148  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

alexandrine,  as  employed  by  Malherbe  and  Boileau, 
has  always  remained  the  basis  of  measure  with  our 
greatest  contemporary  poets ;  indeed,  the  boldest 
but  break  or  release  it  to  reconstruct  it  immediately. 
Besides,  contretemps  would  have  no  value  if  not 
employed  in  contrast  with  the  regular  measure. 
All  discordance  supposes  a  normal  concordance,  the 
effect  of  which  it  further  accentuates,  for  irregu- 
larity cannot  be  conceived  without  rule.  Hence 
it  would  be  absurd  to  found  a  system  of  versifica- 
tion upon  discordance,  which  is  the  negation  of  all 
system . 

Where  does  verse  end  and  prose  begin  ?  It  is 
impossible  to  determine  precisely;  the  limit  varies 
according  to  rhythmical  education  and  the  delicacy 
of  our  senses.  The  uniform  cadence  which  versifica- 
tion imposes  might,  in  fact,  be  deemed  but  illusion. 
It  could  be  maintained  that  all  constraint  impedes 
the  poet's  sincerity;  that,  if  the  close  accord  of  form 
and  substance  is  the  supreme  principle  of  art,  then 
the  rules  which  constrain  form  necessarily  burden 
thought  and  sentiment ;  finally,  that,  in  order  to  be 
truly  sincere,  rhythm,  in  freeing  itself  from  all 
mechanical  formulas,  has  but  to  obey  the  pulsations 
of  the  heart.  But  as  long  as  a  poetical  language 
entirely  distinct  from  prose  exists,  this  language  will 
only  make  concessions  to  the  requirements  of  ex- 
pression and  variety  which  are  in  keeping  with  the 
laws  of  symmetry.  The  belated  disciples  of  Ro- 
manticism have  perhaps  forgotten  this  ;  yet  neither 
Victor  Hugo,  the  leader  of  the  school,  nor  Sainte- 
Beuve  and  Theophile  Gautier,  after  him  the  greatest 


Re7iovation  of  Language  and  Versification.   149 

"  artists "  of  the  first  generation  of  Romanticists, 
are  unmindful  of  this.  Though  he  sometimes  "  dis- 
locates that  great  noodle,  the  Alexandrine,"  Victor 
Hugo,  nevertheless,  maintains  symmetry  as  the 
essential  principle  and  general  rule  of  versification. 


150  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ROMANTIC    LYRICISM. 
I. 

AS  we  shall  see,  the  militant  action  of  Romanti- 
cism will  be  brought  to  bear  particularly 
upon  the  theatre,  which  from  the  first  was  consid- 
ered by  the  leader  of  the  school  as  the  characteris- 
tic development,  and  indeed  the  culminating  form, 
of  modern  art.  The  advent  of  the  new  generation 
was,  however,  marked  by  a  lyrical  outburst,  through 
which  our  poetry  was  first  to  be  renewed.  Three 
great  poets  assumed  the  direction  of  this  renais- 
sance, —  Lamartine,  Alfred  de  Vigny,  and  Victor 
Hugo. 

There  is  still  another  poet,  too  greatly  admired 
by  his  contemporaries  and  since  unduly  slighted, 
to  whom  place  must  be  given.  He  was,  however, 
separated  from  the  Romantic  movement  not  only  by 
a  style  which  he  broadened,  but  also  by  literary  tra- 
ditions as  well  as  moral  temperament. 

Beranger  began  by  investing  the  grivoiseries  of 
the  ancient  Gallic  couplet  with  a  purer  and  more 
exact  diction.  Soon  renouncing  the  great  epic  and 
dithyrambic  projects  of  his  early  youth,  he  dedicated 
himself  to  the  chanson,  believing  it  to  be  the  poetic 
form  best   suited  to  his   delicate,   spirited,   though 


Romantic  Lyricism.  151 

brief  and  limited  talent.  From  the  time  he  decided 
to  become  a  writer  of  chansons  solely,  he  determined 
to  make  the  best  of  the  style  he  had  selected.  He 
sought  to  employ  his  qualities  of  verse  maker  and 
writer,  even  adapting  to  it  those  inspirations  which 
he  had  first  reserved  for  the  heroic  poem,  ode,  or 
elegy.  Merry  refrains  were  followed  by  discreetly 
tender  ballads,  and  political  songs,  vibrating  some- 
times with  liberal,  Voltairian,  or  patriotic  notes, 
sometimes  with  accents  of  satire,  not  gay  and  harm- 
less, but  bitter,  poignant,  and  full  of  skilfully  com- 
bined poison.  Finally,  came  what  Sainte-Beuve 
calls  the  chanson-ballade,  —  a  purely  poetical  and 
philosophical  chanson,  to  which  the  poet  rose  only 
late  in  his  career. 

The  celebrity  which  Beranger  enjoyed  during  life 
was,  in  great  part,  due  to  circumstances,  to  his  skill 
in  profiting  by  them,  and  perhaps,  also,  to  the  con- 
trast between  an  humble  fiddler  and  the  great 
Romantic  chorus  leaders.  His  merits  of  style  and 
composition,  which  will  always  assure  him  an  emi- 
nent place  in  the  literary  history  of  our  times,  must 
not  therefore  be  overlooked. 

Beranger  is  both  a  popular  and  a  scholarly  poet. 
He  is  popular  in  his  choice  of  subjects,  in  the  mali- 
cious, cavilling  spirit  that  inspires  his  songs,  and  in 
his  Gallic  humor,  through  which  here  and  there 
pierce  stray  gleams  of  sentiment ;  he  is  so  also  in  his 
narrowly  jealous  patriotism,  his  intolerant,  suspi- 
cious "liberalism,"  his  leaning  towards  democratic 
equality  and  the  socialistic,  humanitarian  aspira- 
tions, of  which  he  finally  became  the  willing  inter- 


152  Literary  Movement  in  Frmice. 

preter.  He  is  scholarly  in  the  perfection  of  a  tech- 
nique trained  for  higher  aims,  in  his  skill  in  grouping 
couplets  about  a  central  motif,  in  his  regard  for  pur- 
ity and  accuracy,  and  in  his  pursuit  of  a  naturalness 
which,  however,  often  betrays  effort.  His  severest 
critics  concede  him  imagination  of  style  and  inven- 
tion in  detail ;  they  admire  his  readiness  in  assum- 
ing the  most  diverse  tones,  his  happy  selection  of 
themes,  almost  always  graceful  or  piquant,  his  talent 
for  dramatizing  the  chanson,  and  for  inserting  it  in  a 
frame,  for  which  he  prepares  an  animated  expressive 
scene. 

The  poet's  popular  qualities  concealed  from  his 
contemporaries  shortcomings  which  time  made  more 
and  more  evident,  —  faults  which  would,  on  the 
contrary,  be  much  more  likely  to  hide  his  more 
real  merits  from  us.  We  not  only  criticise  his  mis- 
placed mythological  reminiscences,  a  varnish  of  false 
nobility,  a  weakness  for  periphrases,  and,  in  fact,  all 
that  pertains  to  the  graces  of  a  pseudo-Classic  style, 
long  since  antiquated  ;  his  very  effort  detracts,  and 
the  extreme  brevity  of  his  style  prevents  preci- 
sion. There  is  something  hard  and  stony  about  it. 
His  phrases  are  too  dense ;  and,  not  content  with 
gently  pressing,  he  cramps  them.  They  are  wrinkled 
and  shrivelled,  seeming  at  once  stuffed  and  scanty. 
His  always  ingenious  arrangement  betrays  the  pro- 
cess of  his  composition,  and  in  reading  his  poems 
we  feel  something  constrained  and  often  discon- 
nected in  his  elaboration. 

His  productions  are  inspired  by  a  commonplace 
sentimentality,  a  terrene  philosophy,  solemnity  with- 


Romantic  Lyricism.  153 

out  elevation,  pomp  without  grandeur,  and,  when 
his  aims  become  loftier,  something  formal  and  art- 
ful. A  penchant  towards  grivoiserie  is  evident  in 
his  freshest  and  highest  inspirations.  This  is  sufB- 
cient  to  prevent  posterity  from  coupling  his  name 
with  those  of  the  great  poets  who  were  his  con- 
temporaries. Indeed,  this  "  vilain  tres  vilain  "  has 
nothing  in  common  with  the  chevaliers  of  Romanti- 
cism. What  connection  could  exist  between  the 
grandiose,  mysterious  nature  of  which  they  sing  and 
the  coarse  pictures  of  faubourg  life  which  he  aflfixes 
to  his  refrains  ?  What  relation  could  there  be  be- 
tween the  ideal  Elvire  and  that  brave  wench  Lisette } 
What  kinship,  indeed,  between  the  sanctimonious  in- 
dulgence of  the  God  of  honest  people  — that  everlast- 
ingly good  God  who  is  also  a  good  devil  —  and  the 
august,  formidable,  radiant  majesty  of  the  Romantic 
Jehovah  ?  The  writer  of  songs  remains  completely 
estranged  from  the  movement  that  regenerates  the 
very  soul  of  our  poetry.  It  is  not  only  impossible  to 
compare  him  with  his  great  contemporaries,  but  his 
name  cannot  even  be  associated  with  theirs.  They 
are  artists  of  the  lyre,  while  he  is  but  a  master  of 
the  hurdy-gurdy. 

Beranger  had  not  yet  written  Roger  Bontemps 
and  la  Gaudriole,  when  a  little  collection  of  verses 
in  touch  with  the  moral  phase  of  the  young  genera- 
tion appeared,  revealing  the  secret  of  a  new  inspira- 
tion. Their  merit  was  at  once  recognized,  and 
Lamartine's  name,  until  then  unknown,  became 
famous  in  a  day.     The  author  of  les  Meditations  had 


154  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

begun  by  imitating  the  elegiac  poets  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  "  Bertin  and  Parny  were  the  delight 
of  my  youth,"  he  says ;  "  their  imagination,  always 
sober  in  flight,  and  at  that  period  quite  drained  by 
the  materialism  of  Imperial  literature,  conceived 
nothing  more  ideal  than  graceful,  correct  little 
verses.  In  small  doses  Parny  expressed  the  bouquet 
of  a  glass  of  champagne  :  the  provocations,  agita- 
tions, cold  intoxications,  ruptures,  and  reconcilia- 
tions of  love  in  good  society,  —  a  love  changing 
name  with  each  volume.  I  followed  my  models, 
perhaps,  sometimes  succeeding  as  well  as  they. 
One  rainy  autumn  I  carefully  copied  on  vellum  four 
books  of  elegies,  making  altogether  two  volumes." 
The  traces  of  this  first  vein  are  still  to  be  found  in 
his  Meditations.  Certain  of  them  do  not  sensibly 
rise  above  what  was  purest  and  most  touching  in 
Millevoie ;  while  others  proceed  directly  from  Bertin 
and  Parny,  and  exhale  that  rapturous  melancholy 
which  constitutes  the  penetrating  charm  of  some  of 
their  compositions. 

Lamartine  was  nearing  maturity  when  he  gained 
full  consciousness  of  his  true  vocation.  At  twenty- 
eight  was  disclosed  to  him  for  the  first  time  "that,  I 
know  not  what,  called  poetry."  He  at  once  burned 
his  vellum  copy-books,  and  definitely  broke  away 
from  a  sensual  philosophy  which  was  "  not  his 
own."  Ashamed  of  having  profaned  the  sacred  lan- 
guage of  verse  by  confiding  to  it  the  secrets  of  the 
senses,  he  forever  consecrated  his  lyre  to  the  ex- 
pression of  that  infinite  which  henceforth  seemed  to 
him  the  only  source  of  art.     "  Herein  lies  the  whole 


Romantic  Lyricism.  155 

soul  of  man,"  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Virieu;  "con- 
sequently, everything  that  must  and  can  affect  the 
soul  relates  to  and  tends  towards  it  in  some  way." 

In  this  path  there  were  others  who  had  preceded 
him.  We  will  not  now  speak  at  length  of  Ossian  and 
Byron.  The  former,  whom  he  called  the  Homer  of 
his  early  years,  had  but  a  vague,  remote  influence 
over  him  ;  the  latter  he  knew  only  late  in  life,  and 
congratulated  himself  in  that  the  force  of  an  un- 
trained and  often  perverse  genius  had  not  drawn  him 
away  from  his  natural  vocation.  In  reality,  there  is 
no  resemblance  between  Byron,  the  "  rebel  Lucifer 
of  a  human  pandemonium,"  and  Lamartine's  opti- 
mistical nature,  turned  from  self  to  adoration,  mak- 
ing poetry  a  hymn  of  love,  faith,  and  gratitude. 
The  real  heralds  of  the  author  of  les  Meditations 
are  to  be  found  in  France.  They  are  not  poets, 
however.  Having  begun  by  imitations  of  such  as 
Bertin  and  Parny,  he  could  have  known  Andre  Che- 
nier  but  a  year  before  the  publication  of  his  first 
volume.  Moreover,  at  first,  and  for  a  long  time 
inspired  with  instinctive  antipathy  for  the  singer  of 
what  he  considered  but  matter  and  fleshly  pleasure, 
he  did  not  appreciate  the  exquisite  naturalness  of 
the  refined,  scholarly  poetry  of  the  Byzantine.  His 
masters  were  the  great  prose  writers,  who  with  one 
effort  had  regenerated  both  sentiment  and  imagi- 
nation. First  came  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  whose 
works  he  read  in  his  early  youth,  and  of  whom  he 
preserved  a  lasting  impression.  In  his  Meditations 
and  Harmonies  we  very  often  find  accents  that  recall 
the    Solitary   Pedestrian  or   the    Vicar   of    Savoy. 


156  Literary  Move7nent  in  France. 

Saint-Preux  had  already  sighed  to  his  Julie  that 
"  song  of  adoring  lovers,"  le  Lac,  which  the  young 
poet  murmurs  in  the  ear  of  Elvire.  There  is  a  still 
closer  kinship  between  Lamartine  and  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre :  in  both  there  is  the  same  sensibil- 
ity, at  once  tender  and  voluptuous ;  the  same  grace, 
sometimes  a  little  effeminate  in  its  suavity ;  and 
always  the  same  need  for  religious  emotion.  Patil 
et  Virginie  was  early  the  book  of  all  books  for 
Lamartine.  It  is  the  one  he  selects  to  translate  to 
Graziella,  the  one  he  has  read  to  Jocelyn,  and  the 
one  which,  more  than  all  others,  "  in  solitude  speaks 
to  him  the  language  of  the  heart."  With  Bernar- 
din must  be  included  Madame  de  Stael  and  Cha- 
teaubriand, "  the  two  forerunners  who  appeared  and 
consoled  him  upon  his  entrance  into  life."  From 
the  one  he  appropriated  a  purely  idealistic  concep- 
tion of  art ;  the  other  offered  his  imagination  noble 
forms  and  harmonious  contours.  After  Jean- 
Jacques,  Bernardin,  Madame  de  Stael,  and  Chateau- 
briand, poetry  lacked  but  the  wings  of  rhyme  ;  these 
Lamartine  gave  it. 

He,  moreover,  finds  this  new  poetry  within  him- 
self. So  spontaneous  a  genius  could  not  fail  to  be 
original.  It  is  his  own  heart  that  sings.  Between 
him  and  his  predecessors  there  is  a  very  evident 
communion  of  ideas  to  be  explained  by  the  sub- 
tle influences  of  moral  atmosphere.  If  to  a  quite 
tranquil  and  rural  Christian  education  be  added  his 
natural  predisposition  to  melancholy,  his  impression- 
ability, and  his  tender,  fervent  heart,  we  shall  have 
Lamartine  with  all  his  characteristics.     This  is  the 


Romajitic  Lyricism.  157 

Lamartine  who  without  preconceived  theories  or 
long  apprenticeship,  and  influenced  by  no  schools  or 
theories  of  art,  at  once  made  the  poetry  of  the  new 
century  equal  what  was  so  far  most  pure,  noble,  and 
elevated  in  its  prose. 

Great  was  the  efifect  produced  by  les  Meditations. 
Cuvier  compared  Lamartine's  first  verses  to  a 
melodious  song  suddenly  heard  to  rise  out  of  the 
solitude,  —  a  song  in  harmony  with  the  inmost  sen- 
timents of  the  wanderer's  soul.  For  some  time  it 
was  "  submitted  to  the  slander  and  raillery  of  the  old 
Classical  party,  which  found  itself  dethroned;"  but 
the  editors  of  the  Minerve  and  Constitutionnel2iv?i\\Qd 
as  little  against  les  Meditations,  as  did  Morellet  and 
Marie-Joseph  Chenier  twenty  years  earlier  against 
le  Genie  du  Chris tianisme.  Their  shallow  criticisms 
were  lost  in  the  din  of  universal  admiration.  The 
young  poet  himself  said  that  what  he  received  was 
better  than  applause :  he  was  echoed  by  sighs  and 
applauded  by  tears. 

One  slender  volume  of  verse  transformed  our 
poetry.  Its  truth  of  sentiment  and  sincerity  of 
expression  restored,  it  once  more  became  the  lan- 
guage of  the  heart.  This  was,  indeed,  a  revolution. 
As  the  editor  to  whom  Lamartine  first  presented 
his  manuscript  justly  remarked,  les  Meditations  "  re- 
sembles nothing  that  was  then  known  or  admired." 
He,  therefore,  refused  the  work.  Its  very  novelty 
impressed  both  detractors  and  admirers.  The  poet's 
father  found  his  son's  verse  quite  as  '*  curious  "  as 
beautiful.  In  a  salon  where  Lamartine  read  one  of 
his  poems,  Villemain  rushed  towards  him,  and,  seiz- 


158  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

ing  him  by  the  collar,  said :  "  Young  man,  who  are 
you,  and  whence  do  you  come,  —  you  who  bring  us 
such  poetry?"  In  Ponsard's  hands  our  lyrical  poetry 
had  been  but  a  laborious  imitation  of  antiquity;  with 
Malherbe,  a  noble  architecture  of  syllables  ;  with 
Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau,  a  stiff,  cold  declamation: 
Lamartine  with  one  touch  converts  it  into  the  most 
intimate  of  songs,  "  the  moral,  divine,  melodious  part 
of  human  thought,"  less  an  art  than  a  sudden  effu- 
sion of  sentiment.  "  The  poets,"  he  said,  "  seek  far 
for  genius,  while  it  lies  within  the  heart.  Touched 
reverently  and  at  random,  a  few  notes  of  this  in- 
strument tuned  by  God  suffice  to  make  a  whole 
people  weep."  There  is  a  spontaneity  of  inspira- 
tion, a  freshness  of  sentiment,  and  simplicity  of 
method  in  the  Lamartine  of  1820  that  reminds  us 
of  the  primitive  writers. 

Poetry  once  more  finds  its  virginity  in  the  very 
candor  and  ignorance  of  this  poet.  It  is  divested 
of  all  artificial  form,  or,  better,  has  almost  no  other 
form  than  itself.  It  is  an  exhalation  rather  than 
an  expression.  Being  immaterial  it  is,  therefore, 
without  definite  or  sensible  character.  To  what  style 
do  these  verses  which  echo  so  profoundly  throughout 
the  century,  then,  belong  ?  About  this  the  poet  does 
not  concern  himself.  He  calls  them  Meditations ; 
and  this  title  in  itself  sufficiently  indicates  the  nov- 
elty of  the  poetic  outburst  for  which  he  gives  the 
signal.  In  the  first  place,  he  is  unacquainted  with 
the  etiquette  of  scholastic  poetry ;  his  verse  pro- 
ceeds directly  from  the  soul,  and  relates  to  the  man 
and  not  to   his   profession.     It  announces  the  ele- 


Romantic  Lyricism,  159 

vated  tone  Lamartine  at  once  assumed.  The  poet 
"  was  bom  serious  and  affectionate,"  and  always  re- 
tained a  distaste  for  the  heart's  frivolities  and  "  a  grave 
concern  for  existence  and  its  purpose."  From  the 
first  his  poetry  had  a  sentimental,  meditative  turn, 
by  no  means  austere,  but  earnest  in  its  tenderness 
and  reflective  in  its  joyousness. 

If  Lamartine's  first  book  is  not  his  best,  it  is  at 
least  his  purest.  His  talent  rises  and  grows  richer 
in  those  that  follow.  His  progress  is  marked  in  his 
Nouvelles  Meditations.  A  fuller  breath,  surer  touch, 
broader  and  more  luxuriant  form,  correspond  to 
deeper  and  stronger  inspirations.  Lamartine  reaches 
his  highest  poetic  development  in  his  Harmonies. 
Though  so  pure  and  so  slender  at  its  source,  the 
spring  has  become  a  vast  river,  spreading  its  calm, 
potent  waters  to  its  full  banks.  The  poet  at  length 
fulfils  the  promise  of  his  genius,  and  delights 
supremely  in  his  own  plenitude.  Although  Jocetyn 
contains  something  new  in  the  expression  of  sim- 
ple and  familiar  sentiments,  it  is  in  truth  but  an- 
other collection  of  harmonies,  bound  together  by 
the  thread  of  a  narrative. 

Up  to  this  point  there  is  a  constant  and  gradual 
development ;  Lamartine's  growth,  however,  has 
continued  on  the  same  lines.  The  original  vein 
has  broadened,  but  has  not  been  renewed.  Shortly 
after  the  appearance  of  his  first  Meditations,  Fontanes 
said,  "  I  confess,  they  are  very  fine  verses,  but  he 
has  nothing  else  in  him."  Lamartine  subsequently 
improved,  but  in  no  other  direction.  After  Jocelyn 
appeared,  his  faults  became  more  prominent.     He 


i6o  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

continued  to  supply  "  meditations  "  and  "  harmonies  " 
in  such  abundance  that  they  could  no  longer  deceive 
any  one  but  himself.  The  river  overflowed  its  banks. 
It  was  a  deluge  of  loose,  verbose  poetry. 

Lamartine's  fundamental  inspiration  proceeds 
from  a  rather  vague,  though  elevated  and  generous, 
idealism.  It  is  much  less  a  deliberate  conception 
than  an  instinctive  moral  condition.  In  his  youth, 
materialism  inspired  him  with  "  an  invincible  hor- 
ror," and  always  remained  antipathetic  to  him.  A 
singer  of  the  ideal,  in  love  as  in  religion,  in  politics 
as  in  love,  he  celebrates  it  in  a  thoroughly  ideal- 
ized language.  This  spontaneous  idealism  is  united 
with  an  insuperable  need  of  hoping  and  believing. 
The  poet  has,  indeed,  moments  of  doubt,  and  some- 
times of  revolt.  The  cries  of  despair  uttered  in  his 
first  Meditations  prolong  their  echo  through  his 
Harmonies.  Even  when  he  casts  a  calmer  glance 
over  the  universe  and  mankind,  his  faith  is  never 
assured  against  all  vacillation.  The  fatality  of  his- 
torical laws  and  the  impassibility  of  nature  still  dis- 
concert and  trouble  his  spirit.  However,  his  usual 
mood  is  one  of  confident  serenity  and  demonstrative 
gratitude,  escaping  in  hymns  and  orisons.  On  a 
certain  night  he  rises  and  lights  his  lamp  to  write 
his  Desespoir,  —  "a  sighing,  or  rather  a  moaning,  of 
his  soul."  This  is,  of  course,  but  a  paroxysm  ;  for  on 
the  morrow  he  composes  his  Pi'ovidence  a  riiomme. 
Though  "plunged  in  the  night  of  the  heart"  while 
producing  his  Immortalite,  "grief  and  doubt  can 
never  entirely  subdue  an  elasticity  always  ready 
to  react  and  lift  up  hope."     In  this  very  poem  he 


Romantic  Lyricism.  i6i 

sums  up  his  entire  philosophy  in  these  words  of  un- 
conquerable faith  :  "  I  love,  therefore  must  I  hope  !  " 
In  one  of  those  moments  "  when  life  becomes  dark- 
ened by  the  passing  of  a  cloud,"  he  addresses  le 
Passe  to  one  of  his  friends  ;  but  we  learn  from  his 
own  avowal  that  he  is  not  so  discouraged  with  life  as 
these  lines  might  seem  to  indicate ;  that  it  is  merely 
a  fugitive,  transient  feeling,  like  the  notes  of  his  own 
lyre.  "  On  that  day,"  he  continues,  "  I  was  on  the 
earth  ;  the  following  day  I  was  in  heaven."  Lamar- 
tine  is  naturally  "  in  heaven  "  when  nothing  occurs 
to  alter  his  moral  habit.  "  To  adore,"  he  says,  "  is  to 
live ; "  adding,  "  I  do  not  truly  believe  that  man  was 
created  for  anything  else."  The  refinement  of  his 
education,  fortune's  favors,  life's  smiles,  all  conspired 
to  further  the  poet's  native  optimism.  While  a  child 
he  was  ignorant  of  all  "  bitterness  of  heart,  con- 
straint of  mind,  or  severity  in  the  faces  of  those 
about  him."  His  mother,  a  pupil  of  Rousseau  and 
Bernardin,  surrounded  him  with  an  infinitely  tender 
and  fostering  love,  sparing  him  all  coercion,  and 
requiring  him  only  to  be  "  true  and  good."  His  early 
manhood  was  not  less  fondly  cherished.  He  had 
neither  hard  lessons  nor  bitter  experiences.  There 
was  no  need  for  discipline,  and  consequently  not 
its  anxiety.  From  the  indulgence  of  his  mother  he 
passed  to  that  of  the  world.  He  was  a  great  poet 
almost  without  knowing  it,  and  the  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause that  greeted  his  first  verses  carried  to  his  ear 
the  rumor  of  a  glory  bought  by  no  effort.  But  one 
fairy  was  missing  at  his  cradle,  —  the  one  that  ap- 
pears last  in  fairy  tales,  and  who,  in  revenge  for  not 


1 62  Literary  Movement  in  France, 

having  been  invited,  sows  obstacles  through  a  Hfe 
already  disposed  in  favor  of  glory  and  happiness. 
All  Lamartine's  faults  result  from  having  been  too 
happy. 

The  poet  relates  that  when  quite  a  child  he 
amused  himself  with  his  sisters  in  reviving  the 
music  of  the  ^olian  harp.  He  bent  a  willow 
branch  into  a  half  circle,  attached  the  ends  by  a 
thread,  then  tied  hairs  of  unequal  length  across  the 
arc's  two  sides.  This  produced  musical  sounds 
when  exposed  to  the  summer  winds.  They  called 
it  the  "  angel's  music."  Lamartine's  poetry  can 
justly  be  compared  to  its  harmonies.  The  different 
sentiments  which  succeed  each  other  in  his  soul 
yield  their  own  melodious  accents,  for  the  only  true 
music  is  the  exhalation  of  passion. 

The  poet's  sensibility,  as  well  as  his  thought, 
lacks  depth.  It  vibrates  and  quivers  at  the  slightest 
contact,  being  but  a  sonorous  surface.  His  emotion 
is  exhaled  without  having  penetrated  to  the  depths ; 
it  but  touches  the  heart  and  rebounds. 

This  prompt,  though  somewhat  shallow,  sensibil- 
ity clearly  explains  Lamartine's  incurable  "sub- 
jectivity." How  many  times  has  he  told  us,  in 
speaking  of  his  writings,  "  They  are  not  of  ink,  but 
written  tears;"  or,  "These  lines  have  fallen  from 
my  pen  like  a  drop  of  evening  dew ; "  or,  again, 
"  Here  is  a  meditation  that  issued  with  tears  from 
a  man's  heart."  Lamartine's  poetry  only  expresses 
quite  individual  sentiments.  While  the  greatest  of 
our  writers  of  elegies,  he  is  also  limited  to  that  form. 
He  cannot  rise  out   of  himself.      He   "  knows   but 


Romantic  Lyricism.  163 

his  own  soul."  To  him  everything  beyond  personal 
impressions  seems  vaguely  remote.  He  loves 
nature,  and  excels  in  expressing  the  emotions  she 
arouses  in  him,  but  he  is  powerless  to  render  her 
phases ;  he  does  not  see  them.  Even  when  he  re- 
calls the  places  most  familiar  to  him,  his  pictures 
fairly'  bristle  with  inaccuracies.  The  figures  he 
sketches  are  ideal  and  vapory,  and  the  settings  in 
which  he  places  them  have  neither  relief  nor  con- 
sistency. He  does  not  accentuate  their  lineaments  ; 
he  stumps  them  in  with  gentle  caresses.  He  is  at 
ease  only  beyond  all  limitations.  Revery  is  his 
favorite  mental  state.  What  is  vague,  general,  and 
unbounded  in  the  soul,  in  nature,  and  in  humanity, 
is  his  domain.  Nor  is  his  religion  confined  by  pre- 
cise dogmas ;  it  is  but  a  sort  of  harmony  between 
his  heart  and  creation. 

Lamartine's  poetry  consists  in  sudden  and  almost 
involuntary  effusions.  "  What  we  seek,"  he  says,  "  is 
not  found."  He  does  not  seek ;  he  abandons  him- 
self to  the  current  of  his  inspiration,  knowing  no 
hesitation,  making  no  erasures.  If  he  returns  to 
what  he  has  written,  it  is  not  to  correct,  but  to  re- 
write. His  best  productions,  as  he  himself  says,  are 
veritable  improvisations  in  verse.  He  ends  by 
allowing  himself  to  drift  at  will,  finally  offering  the 
public  what  Sainte-Beuve  calls  "  brouillons." 

The  improviser  is  also  an  amateur ;  indeed,  this  is 
the  name  he  has  given  himself.  "  Poetry,"  he  says, 
"  was  an  accident,  a  lucky  adventure,  a  happy 
chance  in  my  life."  He  holds  himself  apart  from 
all  schools  and  literary  quarrels.     It  matters  little 


164  Literary  Move7ne7it  in  Fraiice. 

where  he  writes  his  verses,  whether  in  the  forest, 
while  boating  or  riding.  He  affects  indifference  for 
poetic  fame,  places  little  value  upon  his  own  talent, 
and  scorns  everything  relating  to  the  poet's  profes- 
sion. But  in  poetry  the  trade  is  called  art,  and  it  is 
not  good  that  the  poet  should  treat  it  with  indiffer- 
ence. When  Lamartine  asserts  that  true  art  con- 
sists in  being  moved,  he  confounds  two  very  different 
things.  The  true  artist  is  rather  he  who,  control- 
ling his  emotions,  is  able  to  express  them  in  perfect 
form.  This  is  just  what  this  admirable  genius  lacks. 
He  does  not  know  how  to  govern,  correct,  and,  if 
necessary,  restrain  himself.  "  I  do  not  like  effort," 
he  has  said  frankly ;  and  elsewhere,  "  You  know 
how  incapable  I  am  of  the  painful  labor  of  polishing 
and  criticising."  The  defects  which  so  often  mar 
his  finest  poems  can  be  thus  explained.  There  are 
weak,  commonplace  epithets,  incoherent  images, 
platitudes,  incongruities,  even  inaccuracies  and  in- 
exact rhymes  in  his  works.  We  also  note  an  un- 
certain rhythm  that  floats  about  his  phrases  without 
outlining  their  forms,  a  plan  left  to  chance  inspira- 
tion, a  vague,  flowing  prolixity  in  which  thought 
and  sentiment  are  alike  submerged. 

Lamartine  possessed  all  the  qualities  that  belong 
to  human  nature  without  the  assistance  of  work.  If 
the  poetic  law,  or  even  its  raison  d'etre,  were  not 
absolute  perfection  of  form,  we  should  not  hesitate  to 
call  him  the  greatest  of  all  our  poets.  If  the  best 
verses  were,  as  Joubert  has  said,  those  that  are  ex- 
haled like  sounds  or  perfumes,  no  one  ever  wrote  finer 
than  the  author  of  ks  Meditations,  Ics  Hai^monies, 
and   yocetvn. 


I 


Romantic  Lyricism.  165 

In  proportion  as  Lamartine's  originality  is  in- 
genuous, is  that  of  Alfred  de  Vigny  subtle  and 
complicated.  In  181 5  he  composed  la  Dryade  and 
Symetha,  recalling  Andre  Chenier  both  in  form 
and  sentiment.  It  is  the  same  rare,  delicate  art, — 
an  ingenious  mixture  of  Homeric  naivete  and  the 
Alexandrian  jeweller's  art.  There  are  remote 
archaisms,  elegant  periphrases,  overlapping  lines, 
and,  in  fact,  all  the  curiosities  of  language  and 
versification.  We  also  find  many  studies  or  un- 
finished motifs,  as  remarkable  for  their  skilful 
composition  as  the  many  examples  left  by  Andre 
Chenier.  Following  these  are  Biblical  scenes,  the 
origin  of  which  can  doubtless  be  traced  to  the  author 
of  Suzanne.  But  here  his  inspiration  varies.  While 
Andre  Chenier  possessed  a  thoroughly  pagan  soul, 
Alfred  de  Vigny  inclines  to  mysticism.  He  belongs 
to  a  generation  that  has  witnessed  many  terrible 
events,  a  generation  profoundly  shaken  by  its  moral 
crisis.  Though  he  owed  something  to  Andre 
Chenier  at  the  beginning,  Vigny  almost  immediately 
regains  his  own  personality.  With  the  exception 
of  his  first  attempts,  he  resembles  no  one,  and  pro- 
ceeds only  from  himself.  Nothing  in  all  our  poetry 
announced  poems  like  Mdise,  le  Cor,  Eloa,  and  many 
others.  "  The  only  merit  that  has  never  been  dis- 
puted to  these  compositions  is  that  they  were  the  first 
of  their  kind  in  France,  —  works  in  which  a  philo- 
sophical thought  is  given  an  epic  or  dramatic  form. 
Though  the  first  in  this  new  path,  the  author  started 
out  upon  it  while  still  very  young." 

He  is  an  initiator,  indeed,  and  the  most  illustrious 


1 66  '^Literary  Move7ne7it  in  France. 

of  our  contemporaries  have  at  times  followed  in  his 
footsteps.  We  will  not  here  consider  Othello,  which 
brought  about  a  revolution  in  the  theatre,  as  did 
Cinq-Mars  in  the  historical  novel.  As  a  lyric  poet, 
Vigny  opened  up  many  paths.  A  production  such 
as  la  Neige  made  its  date  in  our  literary  history. 
We  find  in  it  the  first  great  conception  of  the 
middle  ages,  where  his  predecessors  had  found  but 
a  subject  for  affectation.  Though  it  consists  of  but 
a  few  stanzas,  it  suffices  to  give  the  tone.  In  their 
grave,  scholarly  simplicity,  la  Femme  adiiltere,  la  Fille 
de  Jcphte,  and  le  Deluge  foreshadow  the  larger  and 
more  amply  developed  descriptive  pictures  which 
Victor  Hugo  subsequently  called  Legendes  des  Siecles. 
That  reserved  and  at  the  same  time  pathetic  nar- 
rative, Dolorida,  may  be  considered  as  the  first 
of  those  "  contes  d'Espagne  "  and  "  contes  d'ltalie  " 
in  which  Musset  displayed,  not  a  more  vigorous, 
but  a  more  expansive  and  clamorous  passion. 
Finally  we  have  Eloa,  that  model  of  grace  and 
sentiment,  which  supplied  Lamartine  with  the  idea 
of  his  Chute  dun  ange,  so  little  worthy  of  being 
compared  to  it. 

Like  Lamartine,  Vigny  is  an  idealist.  With 
Vigny,  however,  idealism  is  curiously  combined 
with  a  natural  inclination  to  discontent,  moral 
restlessness,  and  a  haughty,  aspersive  disposition,  — 
"a  sort  of  ironical  bitterness,"  giving  rise  to  the 
expression  that  his  "alabaster  was  sullied." 

Even  at  the  outset  there  was  something:  ultra- 
worldly,  almost  seraphic,  about  him.  Representing 
him  as  a  sort  of  archansrel  who  touches  our  lower 


Romantic  Lyricism.  167 

world  as  little  as  possible,  Alexandre  Dumas  said : 
"  None  of  us  have  ever  surprised  him  at  table." 
"  O  Muse,"  cried  Alfred  de  Vigny,  "  thou  hast  no 
form ;  thou  art  a  beautiful  soul,  a  goddess !  "  The 
heart's  deceptions,  vanity's  stings,  and  the  sufferings 
of  a  strangely  susceptible  nature  never  entirely 
destroyed  his  cult  for  pure  mind.  One  of  his  latest 
compositions,  la  Bouteille  a  la  mer^  is  a  glorification 
of  the  ideal,  and  even  in  his  last  work  can  the  noble 
poet  boast  of  having  always  maintained  it  upon  the 
heights.  Though  he  remained  faithful  to  his  intel- 
lectual religion  to  the  end,  Vigny  soon  lost  the  con- 
fidence and  enthusiasm  of  his  early  years.  He  was 
deceived  in  love  :  "  O  mysterious  resemblance  of 
words !  "  he  cried.  "  Yes,  love,  thou  art  a  passion,  but 
that  of  a  martyr,  that  of  the  Christ."  In  his  Samson 
he  launches  against  woman  maledictions  vibrating 
with  wrath.  Although  in  politics  first  the  devout 
servitor  of  royalty,  the  chevalier  of  divine  right, 
the  illusions  of  his  first  faith  were  soon  dispelled, 
and  no  new  trust  came  to  take  its  place  in 
his  disenchanted  heart.  He  coldly  observed  Charles 
X.'s  fall,  from  his  isolation  watched  the  monarchy 
of  July  pass  away,  looked  askance  at  the  Republic, 
and  finally  sought  refuge  in  scornful  indifference. 
As  a  thinker,  he  believed  in  the  future  of  society ; 
but  by  a  strange  contradiction,  which,  among  others, 
Sainte-Beuve  notes,  he  feels  an  instinctive  repug- 
nance for  the  practical  instruments  of  civilization. 
This  apostle  of  progress  ends  in  a  diatribe  against 
science,  against  "  the  strait  and  melancholy  path  " 
which  its  "  merchant "  locomotives  trace  upon  the 


1 68  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

earth.  One  of  his  last  poems  is  inspired  by  the 
most  implacable  fatalism.  The  yoke  of  "  Destinies  " 
has  throughout  all  time  and  will  forever  weigh  upon 
human  kind ;  our  eternal  motto  being,  as  he  says, 
"  It  is  written." 

Art  is  the  only  principle  of  action  that  remains  to 
him.  He  becomes  completely  absorbed  in  himself. 
Separating  *'  poetical  from  political  life,"  he  em- 
ploys all  his  force  of  will  to  turn  his  eyes  away  from 
the  too  facile  enterprises  of  active  life.  He  com- 
pares himself  to  the  swallow  that  rests  but  for  a 
moment  upon  the  earth.  "  I  believe,"  he  says,  "  in 
the  eternal  combat  of  our  inner  life,  which  invokes 
and  fecundates,  against  exterior  life,  which  exhausts 
and  repulses."  He  reduces  the  varieties  of  the 
intellectual  family  to  two  different  races.  One  is 
agile,  flexible,  always  young  and  active,  apt  in  the 
things  of  life,  the  improvisator  or  man  of  letters,  for 
whom  the  poet  has  nothing  but  disdain.  The  other 
is  introverted,  forgetful  of  the  epoch  in  which  he 
lives  and  the  men  who  surround  him,  dreaming 
only  of  the  future,  and  constrained  to  work  by 
the  desire  of  perfection.  Unfitted  for  the  prac- 
tical part  of  existence,  he  becomes  exalted  by  revery 
and  ecstasy,  and  attempts  a  sublime  flight  towards 
unknown  worlds.  This  is  the  thinker,  the  artist, 
the  poet,  —  Alfred  de  Vigny  as  described  by 
himself. 

His  solitude  is  "  sanctified."  But  who  will  console 
him  }  Will  it,  perhaps,  be  Genius  ?  Alas !  Genius 
is  a  crown  of  thorns.  Moses  the  elect,  but  the 
victim  of  God,  sighs  for  earth's   sleep.     The   poet 


Romantic  Lyricism.  169 

turns  to  Glory,  and  demands  that  it  make  his  name 
eternal.     Glory  responds :  — 

"  Tremble,  si  je  t'immortalise  ; 
J'immortalise  le  Malheur." 

Universal  pessimism !  Two  words  will  never 
cease  to  express  our  destiny  of  pain  and  doubt,  — 
wherefore  and  alas !  Alfred  de  Vigny  lays  the 
blame  upon  Nature,  Man,  and  God.  What  of  Na- 
ture.'* It  awaits  thee,  O  poet;  enter  beneath  the 
shepherd's  roof.  The  poet  replies  :  "  I  know  it  too 
well  not  to  fear  it.  Leave  me  never  alone  with  it. 
Nature  hears  neither  our  moans  nor  our  sighs. 
She  is  called  mother ;  she  is  but  a  tomb."  What 
of  Man?  Yes,  doubtless,  the  poet  loves  the  grandeur 
of  human  sufferings  ;  he  would  give  out  all  his 
treasures  of  tenderness  and  devotion.  But  how 
does  society  treat  him  ?  He  sees  Tasso  with  no 
candle  by  which  to  write,  Milton  selling  his  Paradise 
Lost  for  ten  pounds,  Camoens  receiving  alms  from 
the  slave  who  begs  for  him.  Gilbert  died  in  a 
hospital ;  Chatterton  committed  suicide ;  Andre 
Chenier  mounted  upon  the  scaffold.  To  die  is 
nothing;  but  one  dies  without  having  been  under- 
stood. Poetry  is  written  in  seclusion  ;  it  will  be 
read  walking,  driving,  or  at  the  cafe.  The  poet's 
sensibility  grows  exasperated;  he  shudders  at  the 
world's  contempt,  suffering  in  proportion  as  it  is 
delicate.  God  remains  to  him.  What !  the  God 
intoxicated  by  the  fumes  of  blood,  who  delivers  up  a 
daughter  to  Jephthah's  axe,  who  makes  the  just  and 
the  unjust  perish  together  in  the   deluge  ?      How 


170  Litc7'ary  Movement  in  France. 

many  innocent  victims  raise  their  voices  against 
this  God  !  Jesus,  sad  unto  death,  calls  to  his  Father 
in  the  Garden  of  Olives ;  but  Heaven  is  deaf,  and 
humanity  remains  without  light  or  guide.  Since 
God  does  not  manifest  himself, 

"  Le  juste  opposera  le  dedain  k  I'absence 
Et  ne  repondra  plus  que  par  un  froid  silence 
Au  silence  e'ternel  de  la  Divinite." 

A  peaceful  despair ;  herein  lies  wisdom.  The 
wounded  wolf  lies  down  licking  his  blood,  and  ex- 
pires without  a  cry.  Sublime  animals,  would  that 
man  had  the  courage  to  imitate  you  !  Silence  alone 
is  great ;  all  else  is  weakness. 

The  solitary,  introspective  poet,  Vigny,  never 
gives  himself  up  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment. 
He  writes  only  when  impressions  are  remote.  An 
emotion  which  is  troubled  and  impetuous  at  its 
source  he  first  allows  to  calm  and  clear  itself.  He 
employs  evasions,  restrains  his  lyrical  impulse,  and 
encloses  it  in  an  epic  or  dramatic  setting.  Does  he, 
perchance,  seek  to  express  the  bitterness  of  genius  ? 
He  does  not  place  himself,  nor  even  an  idealized 
figure  of  himself,  before  us,  but  rather  Moses  be- 
seeching the  Eternal  God  for  pardon.  Does  he 
wish  to  reproach  God  for  his  injustice  towards  man- 
kind .''  He  transports  us  to  Mount  Ararat,  and 
shows  us  Emmanuel  and  Sarah  being  ingulfed  by 
the  deluge.  Is  it  his  purpose  to  exorcise  all  cow- 
ardly complaints  ?  He  pictures  the  wolf's  mute 
death.  Perhaps  there  is  some  coldness  in  this  self- 
effacement,  yet  it  frees  poetry  from  vulgarities,  raises 


Romantic  Lyricism.  171 

it  to  the  height  of  the  ideal,  and  stamps  it  with  its 
own  serenity  and  immaculate  purity. 

Each  becomes  the  poet  of  his  own  genius.  If 
Vigny  can  restrain  his  inspiration,  it  is  because  it 
comes  to  him  in  little  draughts.  He  is  short  of 
breath.  Hence  the  many  unfinished  attempts  he 
has  left.  A  suspension  of  inspiration  often  inter- 
rupted his  labor,  and  he  never  resumed  it.  He 
remarks :  "  I  now  do  what  I  have  always  sought 
to  do :  I  trace  outlines  which  are  my  great  delight, 
and  in  the  midst  of  which  I  set  rare  pictures." 
He  does  not  hesitate  to  divide  his  poems  into  suc- 
cessive scenes.  Even  in  those  which  form  a  com- 
plete whole,  we  observe  sutures  and  amendments. 
Their  com_position  is  fragmentary,  sometimes  cur- 
tailed. There  are  parts  which  were  composed  in 
advance,  or  at  least  separately.  It  is  an  admirable 
mosaic  of  stones,  filed  and  polished  at  leisure.  In 
this  manner  are  his  faults  of  sequence  and  procedure 
to  be  explained  ;  even  Eloa  has  interruptions  and 
incoherences.  The  numerous  obscurities  which 
arrest  and  confuse  the  mind  are  also  to  be  thus 
accounted  for ;  and,  indeed,  there  are  very  few  of 
his  works  which  proceed  regularly  from  beginning 
to  end,  the  meaning  of  which  is  always  clear  and 
easily  grasped. 

To  obscurities  of  detail  may  be  added  those  of  gen- 
eral thought.  Why  is  le  Somnainbule  placed  in  his 
Homeric  Book  ?  What  significance  has  les  Amants 
de  Montmorency  ?  Do  le  Masque  de  Fer  and  la  Flute 
impart  clear  ideas  ?  Without  its  epigraph  would  not 
le  Deluge  leave  us  in  uncertainty  ?    This  defect  is  the 


172  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

result  of  his  process  of  composition.  The  idea  has 
remained  so  long  in  the  poet's  mind,  and  has 
been  turned  and  re-turned  in  so  many  ways,  that 
it  in  time  comes  to  lose  its  frankness  and  primitive 
simplicity.  Moreover,  Alfred  de  Vigny  is  not  ad- 
verse to  obscurity ;  he  believes  that  what  is  self- 
evident  risks  being  commonplace,  and  holds  the 
ordinary  in  absolute  horror.  His  refinement  inclines 
him  to  subtlety,  and  he  dislikes  the  manifest  only  to 
fall  very  often  into  the  artificial  and  fastidious. 

Alfred  de  Vigny  the  thinker  has  been  praised  at 
the  expense  of  the  artist.  He  found  pleasure  in 
certain  philosophical  and  political  pretensions.  We 
imagine  to  whom  he  alludes  when  he  speaks  of 
"  those  poets  who  prefer  above  all  things  to  treat 
social  questions  as  well  as  spiritual  and  psychological 
doctrines."  If,  at  the  outset,  he  remains  apart  from 
the  theatre,  it  is  because  he  finds  the  art  of  the  stage 
"  too  limited  for  philosophical  developments."  When 
he  ends  by  writing  a  drama,  it  is  only  "  in  order  to 
make  his  ideas  known."  By  a  slow  process  of  incu- 
bation he  has  turned  many  things  over  in  his  mind, 
and  trusts  to  be  able  to  condense  them  all  into  several 
verses.  "  If  he  dared,"  said  Sainte-Beuve,  "  he  would 
write  Poeme  epique  over  a  sonnet."  Vigny  must, 
however,  be  credited  with  a  lofty,  meditative  mind. 
He  was  certainly  one  of  the  most  original  of  the 
Romantic  reformers.  His  social  theses  are  not  with- 
out import.  Even  in  his  poems  he  is  engrossed  by 
the  gravest  questions  that  touch  upon  man's  origin 
and  destiny.  Although  he  merits  being  called  a 
thinker,  the  artist  seems  quite  superior  to  the  phi- 


Romantic  Lyricism.  173 

losopher.  Even  while  expressing  philosophical  am- 
bitions, he  declares  himself  "  preoccupied  with  both 
the  scientific  details  of  elocution  and  the  forms  of 
purest  outline."  In  fact,  is  not  this  what  prevails  in 
Alfred  de  Vigny  ?  How  many  of  his  compositions 
are  really  only  art  studies !  We  not  only  refer  to 
his  fragments  and  rough  draughts,  but  to  his  unfin- 
ished pictures,  such  as  la  Fille  deyephte,  or  la  Femme 
adulCere.  Indeed,  some  of  his  productions  express 
quite  ordinary  ideas,  to  which  the  poet  has  given  a 
setting  quite  out  of  proportion  to  his  subject.  How- 
ever poetical  may  have  been  the  first  inspiration  of 
Eloa,  its  execution  seems  much  more  choice  than 
its  matter.  Alfred  de  Vigny  possesses  a  vigorous, 
original  mind  ;  but  he  is  first  of  all  an  artist,  and  the 
most  refined  of  all  those  produced  by  the  generation 
of  1820.  His  modest  grace  and  chaste  exaltation 
give  him  a  place  apart  from  all  contemporary  poets. 
Among  the  many  rich  and  brilliant  jewels  contained 
in  the  Romantic  casket,  Vigny's  poetry  gleams  like 
a  pearl,  —  perhaps  a  little  cold  in  its  purity,  but 
divinely  rare  and  exquisite. 

As  Sainte-Beuve  says,  Lamartine's  earliest  at- 
tempt, les  Meditations,  is,  perhaps,  his  only  original 
effort.  Although  Alfred  de  Vigny  has  produced 
barely  forty  works,  those  in  which  both  inspiration 
and  exterior  form  seem  to  be  in  harmony  can  be 
summed  up  in  a  dozen  compositions.  In  Victor 
Hugo,  however,  we  have  the  boldest,  most  fertile, 
and  most  versatile  poet  of  our  age.  The  "  sublime 
child  "  makes  his  debut  when  "  three  lustres  he  had 


174  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

scarcely  seen  pass,"  and  from  fifteen  until  extreme 
old  age  his  genius  does  not  cease  to  charm,  to  arouse, 
and  to  dazzle  the  century.  All  forms  of  art  are  re- 
newed by  him,  and  when  he  is  not  the  guide  of 
contemporary  generations  he  becomes  its  puissant 
and  sonorous  echo. 

His  lyrical  career  is  divided  into  two  parts.  The 
first  begins  with  his  Odes  and  ends  with  les  Rayons 
et  les  Ombres.  Here  he  already  gives  evidence  of  a 
variety  in  inspiration  and  construction,  which,  under 
all  the  many  aspects  he  assumes,  is  always  consistent 
vj'ith.  a  vigorous  and  well-defined  originality.  Some- 
times, unfolding  himself,  he  displays  in  all  its  splen- 
dor the  wealth  of  an  imagination  in  which  the 
universe  is  mirrored  ;  sometimes,  turning  inward,  he 
draws  from  more  secret  sources  songs  of  grave, 
penetrating  feeling. 

The  poet's  original  Classicism  is  evident  in  his 
Odes.  Lamartine  began  by  "  meditations,"  a  name 
indicating  a  leaning  towards  no  particular  literary 
style;  Victor  Hugo  ascribes  his  first  attempts  to  a 
form  defined  by  all  poetics.  The  further  he  proceeds, 
the  less  importance  does  he  attach  to  traditional 
classifications.  He,  however,  always  retains  what 
Lamartine  never  possessed,  a  rigorous,  systematic 
mind,  and  a  full  consciousness  of  his  talents,  seeing 
clearly  not  only  the  contour  of  material  objects,  but 
also  the  settings  in  which  he  encloses  ideas  or 
sentiments. 

Both  in  form  and  lyrical  movement,  as  well  as  in 
respect  to  title,  his  Odes  belong  to  the  traditions 
of  the  eighteenth  century.     There  are  periphrases, 


Romantic  Lyricism.  175 

noble  expressions,  and  a  great  display  of  showy, 
sometimes  ordinary,  images.  Notwithstanding  the 
poet's  criticism  of  the  French  ode,  he  abuses  apos- 
trophes, exclamations,  prosopopoeia,  and,  in  fact,  all 
the  cold,  vehement  figures  that  "  bewilder  instead  of 
move."  This  collection,  on  the  whole,  and  especially 
as  regards  its  political  odes,  is  somewhat  stiff  and 
labored.  It  is  beautiful  rhetoric,  but  rather  rigid 
and  constrained.  Although  not  without  the  faults 
of  pseudo-Classicism,  they  possess  in  other  respects 
the  truly  Classical  qualities  of  precision  of  design,  and 
vigor  and  sureness  of  touch.  Many  of  them,  particu- 
larly the  later  ones,  announce  a  new  manner,  both  in 
the  choice  of  subjects  and  in  a  freer,  easier  art. 

His  Ballades  are  "  efforts  in  a  fanciful  style,"  to 
which  he  has  brought  "  more  of  his  imagination," 
just  as  he  has  introduced  "  more  of  his  soul  "  into  his 
Odes.  Here  the  poet's  imagination  haunts  a  middle 
ages  of  fantasies,  where  flourish  the  graces  of  a  rather 
vapid  mythology.  It  flits  from  vault  to  vault,  balances 
itself  along  with  sylphs  in  periwinkle  cups,  and 
naively  allows  itself  to  be  frighted  by  the  owls  of  old 
manors.  The  future  author  of  Notre-Dame  plays 
with  this  roguish,  superficial  middle  ages  ;  he  ro- 
mances about  it,  and  becomes  its  troubadour.  How- 
ever, his  Ballades  already  betray  a  taste  for  color, 
setting,  and  picturesque  effect,  which  in  a  future 
work  was  not  to  be  marred  by  a  sentimental  languor 
quite  foreign  to  his  healthy,  vigorous  nature.  In 
the  fifteenth,  a  peri  takes  the  place  of  the  Gothic 
fairy :  this  peri  now  opens  to  the  poet  the  richer 
horizons  of  the  Orient. 


176  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

The  Orient  as  described  by  Victor  Hugo  is,  per- 
haps, no  more  just  than  his  Occidental  middle  ages. 
The  figures  with  which  he  peoples  it  very  soon  be- 
come commonplace,  and,  in  fact,  never  were  other 
than  motifs  for  decoration.  To  those  who  demanded 
what  suggested  these  Orientates,  he  replied  that 
the  idea  came  to  him  while  watching  the  setting  sun. 
They  must  be  taken  for  what  they  are ;  we  must  ad- 
mire their  magnificence  of  form,  without  accusing 
the  poet  of  having  given  us  little  food  for  thought, 
or  having  failed  to  speak  to  our  hearts.  In  them  he 
addresses  but  our  senses.  His  Orientates  resemble 
those  sunsets  which  first  brought  the  idea  to  him  : 
they  are  a  perpetual  illumination,  a  splendid  fete  for 
the  imagination.  They  further  denote  a  decided 
rupture  with  the  vague,  abstract  style  of  the  pseudo- 
Classic  school.  Victor  Hugo  is  the  first  of  all  our 
poets  who  possesses  the  faculty  of  seeing  things  in 
broad  daylight  and  rendering  them  in  all  the  lumi- 
nous brilliancy  of  their  coloring.  The  greater  part 
of  these  poems  were  nothing  more  than  exercises  in 
style  and  versification ;  yet  they,  none  the  less,  open 
a  new  field  to  poetry,  and  were  a  great  revelation  of 
plastic  methods,  until  then  an  unsuspected  possibility. 

Barely  three  years  separate  his  Feuilles  (Tautomne 
from  his  Orientates,  yet  their  inspiration  seems  to  be 
that  of  another  poet.  Having  terminated  his  appren- 
ticeship, Victor  Hugo  is  now  entire  master  of  his 
instrument ;  he  handles  rhythm  and  figures  with 
ease.  Art  has  now  no  further  secrets  for  him.  To 
the  language  modelled  and  colored  in  the  description 
of  concrete  things,  he  can  at  last  fearlessly  confide 


Romantic  Lyricism.  177 

the  expression  of  thoughts  and  feelings ;  it  has  gained 
sufficient  eclat  and  relief  to  render  the  moral  world 
with  as  much  force  and  vivacity  as  the  physical  world. 
After  having  cast  about  for  subjects,  he  turns  within 
himself,  drawing  deeper,  though  less  brilliant,  poetry 
from  his  own  heart  and  domestic  life.  Following 
the  transplendent  symphony  of  his  Orientates,  these 
are  sweet,  severe  melodies,  which  leave  their  echo  in 
the  heart.  His  former  vocalizations  are  succeeded 
by  notes  of  reflective  communion.  In  his  later  odes 
the  poet  had  already  given  us  the  prelude  to  this 
new  lyrical  departure  ;  but  they  had  lacked  both 
depth  of  feeling  and  fulness  of  expression,  if  not 
sincerity.  Here  his  lyre  yields  richer  harmonies, 
and  maturity  has  imparted  greater  force  to  his 
thought,  as  well  as  a  higher  tone  to  his  emotions. 

Under  different  titles  the  three  following  volumes 
continue  in  the  grave,  meditative  spirit  of  the  pre- 
ceding work.  Their  author,  however,  here  and  there 
adds  political  poems,  the  tone  of  which  had  been 
announced  in  the  last  selection  of  his  Feuilles  d'au- 
tomne.  He  affixes  what  he  calls  the  brass  chord  to 
his  lyre.  In  fact,  many  of  his  former  odes  evince  an 
interest  in  public  events;  but  those  which  so  coldly 
celebrate  the  birth  or  death  of  kings  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  ample,  refreshing  poetry,  rich  in 
reality  and  experience,  now  produced  by  an  always 
more  reflective  reason  and  a  sensibility  ever  drawing 
deeper  from  inward  sources.  His  heart  falls  naturally 
into  unison  with  his  age.  In  his  Chants  du  crepuscule, 
the  uncertainty  within  corresponds  to  the  "  obscurity 
without."      From    this   dubious   atmosphere    issue 


1/8  Literaiy  Movement  in  Fj'ance. 

sometimes  cries  of  despair,  sometimes  songs  of  love; 
but  his  cries  are  "often  faltering"  and  his  songs 
"  broken  by  plaints."  The  soul  and  society  are  but 
"  dimly  lighted  ;  "  and  as  regards  political  theories, 
religious  opinions,  personal  existence,  there  is  every- 
where the  same  crepuscule.  Here  night  struggles 
with  day,  —  that  is,  doubt  with  dogma,  grief  with 
joy,  an  on-coming  universal  darkness  with  a  clamor- 
ous faith  in  the  possible  expansion  of  humanity.  His 
Voix  intcrictircs  are  the  secret  echo  from  the  fireside, 
the  fields,  and  the  public  streets.  In  these,  man, 
nature,  and  events  speak  by  turns,  and  this  threefold 
message  comprehends  a  serious,  invigorating  philos- 
ophy. Whether  the  poet  meditates  upon  desert 
mountains,  in  the  tumult  of  the  streets,  or  by  the 
dreamy  quiet  of  the  fireside,  they  all  breathe  a  devout 
resignation,  in  sympathy  with  manly  tenderness  and 
brave,  generous  sympathies. 

As  he  proceeds,  "  his  heaven  becomes  bluer  and 
his  peace  deeper."  The  last  message  of  les  Rayons 
et  les  Ombres  bespeaks  that  "  kindly,  universal  good 
will  "  united  to  energy  of  action,  which  pardons  evil 
without  ceasing  to  combat  it.  As  his  mind  rises  and 
grows  serene,  he  also  finds  the  notes  of  a  more  in- 
tense, more  reflective  emotion.  The  picturesque 
opens  a  broader  field  to  revery  and  imagination. 
Nature  not  only  furnishes  him  with  colors,  but  he 
even  penetrates  into  her  widely  diffused  soul.  He 
also  teaches  us  to  see  what  is  invisible  in  things  be- 
yond their  exterior  forms.  If  his  sentiments  become 
sensations,  it  is  also  true  that  his  sensations,  in  their 
turn,  arouse  in  him  a  world  of  sentiments. 


Romantic  Lyricum.  179 

Differing  from  Lamartine,  who  sings  "  as  man 
breathes,"  Victor  Hugo  is  the  most  studied  of  our 
poets,  the  one  whose  talent  is  most  supplemented 
by  labor  and  energy.  Unlike  Alfred  de  Vigny,  the 
first  "  neuropath  "  of  the  century,  a  refined,  effemi- 
nate nature  of  abnormal  impressionability,  he  pos- 
sesses a  moral  and  physical  equilibrium,  a  vigorous 
temperament,  and  a  self-possession  which,  with  his 
capacity  for  work,  are  his  characteristic  qualities. 

For  Victor  Hugo  poetry  is  not  a  sudden,  uncon- 
scious effusion,  but  an  exercise  of  sustained  applica- 
tion. What  others  consider  but  play  he  constitutes 
his  profession.  Some  become  poets  through  caprice, 
during  idle  moments,  and  while  waiting  for  better 
things  ;  he  has  devoted  his  entire  life  to  art.  From 
the  first  he  refers  to  his  "  doctrines,"  his  "  literary 
principles."  He  loves  to  discuss  questions  of  trade, 
demanding  for  the  artist  the  "  right  to  explain  what 
he  does."  He  is  the  leader  of  a  school,  and  gathers 
a  "  Cenacle  "  of  disciples  about  him.  "  I  would  have 
been  a  soldier,"  he  said,  "  had  I  not  been  a  poet." 
He  conducts  a  decisive  campaign  against  Classic 
traditions,  and  the  standard  which  he  raises  becomes 
that  of  the  Romantic  movement.  Not  only  is  he 
absorbed  in  the  great  problems  of  literary  philosophy, 
but  he  descends  to  their  most  minute  details,  wish- 
ing to  learn  all  methods  and  to  initiate  himself  into 
all  the  secrets  of  handicraft.  As  a  writer  he  reno- 
vates language,  and  as  a  versifier  he  restores  rhyme 
and  increases  the  means  of  rhythmical  expression. 
This  great  poet  is  a  craftsman  in  metre  and  style ; 
with  his  own  hands  has  he  forged  the  instrument  of 


i8o  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

modern  poetry.  From  the  first  his  revolutionary 
spirit  exposed  him  to  violent  attacks.  His  positive, 
inflexible  mind  never  allowed  him  to  be  influenced. 
He  pursued  the  career  he  had  traced  out,  ignoring 
his  enemies,  nor  even  wishing  to  know  them,  alike 
scornful  of  insults  and  indifferent  to  criticism.  Sure 
of  his  power,  he  laid  out  in  his  youth  a  vast  program 
for  fame.  At  fifteen  he  wrote  in  one  of  his  class 
note  books,  "  I  will  be  Chateaubriand  or  nothing;" 
and  if  he  was  able  to  realize  his  dream,  it  was  because 
he  had  the  will  to  do  it.  He  is  the  least  passive,  the 
most  perseveringly  sedulous,  of  all  the  poets  of  the 
Romantic  generation.  Even  his  faults  are  system- 
atical. Others  abandon  themselves  to  the  caprices 
of  inspiration  ;  he  is  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to 
direct  and  2:overn  his.  "  I  do  not  leave  to  chance 
what  we  like  to  call  inspiration,"  he  says.  He  never 
yields  to  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  and  even  in 
the  works  w^iere  we  find  most  of  his  heart,  we  feel  that 
the  poet's  will  has  intervened  between  the  impression 
and  its  expression.  He  does  all  he  washes,  because 
he  wills  to  do  all  he  does. 

He  can  readily  break  away  from  self.  He  fecun- 
dates the  world  within  him  —  that  world  of  ideas 
and  feelings  —  by  exchanging  it  for  the  visible  world. 
Into  poetry  enters  his  soul,  and  with  it  the  whole 
universe,  in  the  centre  of  which  it  stands  like  a 
reverberant  echo.  For  him  everything  in  art  pos- 
sesses the  right  of  citizenship ;  there  are  neither 
good  nor  bad  subjects,  only  good  and  bad  poets. 
Man,  nature,  and  history,  all  belong  to  the  artist, 
not  only  in  a  vague,  general  sense,  but  in  all  their 


Romantic  Lyricism.  i8i 

expressive  details,  in  their  living  physiognomy.  He 
has  the  instinct  of  the  "  precise,  meridional  form," 
but  he  also  knows  how  to  render  the  vague  half- 
lights  of  thought.  He  can  sound  the  trumpet 
blasts  of  metaphors  and  antitheses,  but  he  can  also 
attune  murmurs  of  gentle  sweetness.  We  find  so 
winning  a  charm  in  some  of  his  works  that  Lamar- 
tine  himself  might  have  envied  them.  His  great 
symphonic  pieces  possess  a  breadth  and  incompara- 
ble complexity  of  harmony,  and  his  melodies,  a 
simplicity,  delightfully  touching. 

This  so  rich  painter  of  the  exterior  world  is  also 
the  most  profound  and  forcible  interpreter  of  moral 
life.  The  artist  never  allows  himself  to  be  discon- 
certed, and  although  the  "man  may  be  irritated,"  the 
poet  knows  how  to  retain  his  composure.  But  there 
are  days  of  trouble,  sorrow,  and  bitterness,  even  for 
Olympio,  and  then  his  inspirations  are  so  much  the 
more  poignant  that  more  meditation  enters  into  them. 
While  the  sensibility  of  some  writers  has  been  more 
prompt,  more  spontaneous,  his  is  less  fleeting,  more 
intense,  more  penetrating.  It  has  the  strength  to 
support  emotion,  and  sufficient  substance  to  nour- 
ish it. 

There  are  refinements  and  subtleties  of  sentiment 
that  suppose  a  lack  of  equilibrium.  We  find  nothing 
of  this  in  Victor  Hugo.  For  him  even  love  pos- 
sesses a  healthy,  robust  tranquillity.  We  must  not 
look  for  the  inebriating  languor  of  a  Lamartine,  nor 
the  delirious  passion  of  a  Musset.  He  has  cele- 
brated but  one  woman,  his  wife.  Even  before  mar- 
riage  his  love  assumed  something   of    a   conjugal 


i82  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

character,  and  inspired  epithalamii  both  grave  and 
pious.  There  are  neither  complaints  nor  trans- 
ports, but  a  brave,  quiet  tenderness,  having  more 
fervor  than  fire,  less  vivacity  than  depth. 

Moreover,  Victor  Hugo's  conception  of  poetry 
was  too  high  to  voice  the  ravings  of  passion.  What- 
ever he  writes,  his  constant  purpose  is  to  instruct 
and  to  moralize.  Though  a  marvellous  virtuoso, 
he  has  declared  himself  the  enemy  of  "  art  for  art's 
sake."  He  wrote  but  "one  useless  book  of  pure 
poetry ; "  yet  his  Orientales  sounded  the  reveille 
and  deliverance  of  Greece.  He  considers  the  thea- 
tre a  "  chair,"  a  "  tribune,"  and  the  moral  import  of 
his  lyrics  concerns  him  no  less  than  that  of  his 
dramas.  In  these  also  "  he  feels  himself  responsi- 
ble ;  "  he  has  "  souls  in  his  charge."  In  the  first 
preface  to  his  Odes,  he  expresses  the  conviction 
"  that,  to  whatever  sphere  his  mind  turns,  every 
writer  should  consider  it  his  first  object  to  be  use- 
ful." He  tells  us  that  he  attempted  "to  solemnize 
some  of  the  principal  memories  of  our  epoch,  hop- 
ing that  they  might  prove  lessons  for  future  socie- 
ties." He  compares  the  elect  of  genius  to  the 
sentinels  left  by  the  Lord  on  the  towers  of  Jerusa- 
lem. He  despises  "  the  useless  singer."  For  him 
the  result  of  art  is  "  the  sweetening  and  softening 
of  mind  and  manners,"  —  in  a  word,  "  civilization 
itself."  He  professes  to  lead  up  to  this  by  all  the 
paths  open  to  thought,  through  the  theatre  as  w^ell 
as  through  books,  through  the  novel  as  well  as 
through  the  drama,  through  history  as  well  as 
through  poetry.     He  sees  in  the  poet  the  "  sower," 


Romantic  Lyricism.  183 

the  "  pastor  of  souls,"  a  beacon  light  pointing  out 
the  path  to  mankind. 

If  the  vicissitudes  of  his  religious  and  political 
thought  do  not  always  agree  with  such  pretensions, 
Victor  Hugo's  work,  nevertheless,  incarnates  the 
restless  conscience  of  the  age.  Though  the  torch 
which  he  "  leads  before  the  people  "  often  wavers 
in  his  hand,  he  at  least  bears  its  light  towards  the 
highest  questions  that  have  agitated  our  age. 
"  Every  poet,"  he  wrote,  "  should  bear  the  sum  of 
the  ideas  of  his  time." 


184  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ROMANTIC     LYRICISM. 
II. 

LAMARTINE  never  united  himself  with  any 
school;  Alfred  de  Vigny  early  isolated  him- 
self in  his  ivory  tower  and  withdrew  from  the  world ; 
while  Victor  Hugo,  whether  by  reason  of  his  puissant 
genius,  militant  activity,  or  what  was  systematic  in 
his  views  and  in  the  character  of  his  mind,  exercised 
an  ever  more  decisive  influence  over  contemporary 
poetry.  He  is  the  recognized  chief  of  two  succes- 
sive "  Cenacles."  The  first  had  made  but  a  timid 
effort  to  effect  a  transition  from  Classic  taste  to 
newer  aspirations,  and  none  of  its  now  almost  for- 
gotten members  present  distinct  figures.  To  the 
second  belong  Sainte-Beuve,  Alfred  de  Musset,  and, 
after  1830,  Theophile  Gautier,  the  leader  of  the 
"bearded  poets  and  full-maned  artists." 

From  the  first  volume  published  by  Sainte-Beuve 
emanates  an  arid  sadness  in  no  respect  akin  to  either 
Lamartine's  winning  melancholy  or  Vigny's  noble 
pessimism,  or  yet  Victor  Hugo's  impressive  gravity. 
It  is  a  barren  disenchantment,  a  disgust  that  cor- 
rupts everything  it  touches,  something  sickly  and 


Romantic  Lyricism.  185 

prematurely  withered.  Like  Senancour's  hero, 
whose  epigraph  he  has  borrowed,  Joseph  Delorme 
early  found  himself  following  out  a  long  series  of 
trials  and  deceptions.  In  these  he  lived  and  aged 
before  his  time.  His  misfortune  was  never  to  have 
been  young.  A  blighting  analysis  early  crippled 
every  fertile  inspiration  in  this  disciple  of  the  "  physi- 
ologists." Others  are  lifted  up  by  an  eagle ;  he  is 
devoured  by  a  vulture.  His  Muse  is  neither  a  radi- 
ant odalisk,  a  scarlet  peri,  nor  a  fairy  with  blue-and- 
white  wings;  but  there,  piteous  and  shabby,  she 
stands  beneath  a  dead  tree  in  the  background,  and 
not  far  from  a  rock  where  a  heath-bush  weeps ;  she 
sings  while  washing  a  worn  garment,  but  her  song  is 
broken  by  a  harrowing  cough.  He  knows  only  the 
mournful  aspects  of  nature ;  at  night-fall  he  paces 
the  length  of  dark  walls  or  yawning  hedges,  show- 
ing here  and  there  glimpses  of  the  dirty  green  of 
kitchen-gardens  ;  farther  on  there  are  dusty  by-ways, 
stunted  trees,  and  stony  fallows,  —  a  landscape  ex- 
pressly made  for  a  dull,  gray  ennui.  He  is  incapa- 
ble of  love ;  he  lacks  the  glow  of  youth,  faith  in  the 
ideal,  candor  of  sentiment.  The  dupe  of  his  own 
desire,  he  mistakes  it  for  love ;  and  when  pleasure 
is  exhausted,  how  far  off  is  love  before  it  revives ! 
Even  sensual  solaces  are  not  for  him.  He  dreams 
and  forgets  to  enjoy  the  present.  Night's  delights 
are  dispelled  by  the  thought  of  the  nauseous  dis- 
gust and  craven  dejection  in  store  for  the  morrow. 
He  gathers  and  lifts  the  golden  fruit  to  his  lips ;  he 
bites  into  dust  and  decay.  Widowed  of  all  hope 
and   consolation   alike,  his    soul  lies   down   to   rest 


1 86  Literary  Moveme7tt  in  France. 

wrapped  in  melancholy  as  in  a  shroud.  He  yearns 
for  suicide.  Here  is  a  long,  narrow  valley,  through 
which  runs  a  monotonous  brook ;  he  reclines  on  its 
bank  to  gaze  and  dream,  and  when  he  "  feels  his 
spirits  at  best,"  descends  and  quietly  drowns  him- 
self, —  not  from  a  sudden,  overwhelming  grief,  but 
without  clamor  or  commotion,  merely  because  life 
is  bitter  and  death  will  cure  him  of  life. 

However,  Joseph  Delorme  survived.  A  year  after 
he  had  courted  suicide,  the  desolate  poet  published 
a  volume  of  Coiisolations.  He  had  found  about 
him  good,  strong  spirits  to  reconcile  him  with  God 
and  make  him  share  their  belief  in  the  ideal  and  in 
an  eternity.  Once  the  crisis  passed,  his  first  feeling 
is  one  of  grateful  content ;  and  it  is  this  sentiment 
that  dictates  his  new  verses.  Immortal  thought 
shoots  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  from  the  mire  in  which 
he  has  dragged  his  senses.  He  masters  the  ardor 
of  his  temperament,  and  the  asceticism  he  forces 
upon  a  gross  sensuality  turns  his  subtle  mind 
towards  refinements  of  thought  and  religious  emo- 
tion. Philosophical  religion  does  not  suffice ;  it  is 
too  bare  and  cold  for  him.  Morbid  reveries  have 
developed  a  mysticism  of  agitating  perfumes  which, 
if  his  senses  relapse,  will  but  stimulate  his  native 
voluptuousness. 

Les  Pensees  d'aout  are  the  "product,  but  more 
often  the  pastime,  of  the  slow  days  of  mid-life." 
Observing:  what  is  most  secret  within  himself, 
in  default  of  their  "  hours  "  he  offers  us  the  super- 
fluities of  those  hours,  the  interval,  —  waiting, 
hope  or  recollection.     His  verse  now  breathes  the 


Romantic  Lyricism.  1S7 

wisdom  of  an  appeased  maturity.  There  is  some- 
thing cheerful  in  his  returns  to  the  past,  and  the 
reflection  following  them  is  grave  without  bitterness. 
He  exposes  less  of  himself  in  this  volume  than  in 
all  the  others ;  but,  although  he  does  not  here  bare 
the  depths  of  his  inner  self,  he  at  least  reveals  more 
of  his  true  nature  apart  from  crises,  and  in  the  habits 
of  a  life  seemingly  henceforth  fixed. 

Through  the  different  phases  of  his  moral  career, 
the  poet's  literary  physiognomy  always  remained  the 
same.  His  novelty  consists  in  a  mean,  discreet,  will- 
ingly humble  manner.  Arriving  late  when  others 
had  already  occupied  the  "  vast  of  the  soul  and 
the  heavens,"  he  sought  for  the  ignored  or  despised 
corners  in  both.  There  is  nothing  dramatic  in 
the  misfortunes  of  Joseph  Delorme ;  his  life  is 
composed  of  cloudy,  monotonous  days,  nor  does  he 
even  aspire  to  adorn  himself  in  his  winding-sheet. 
His  artist's  ambition  is  to  note  keenly  and  accu- 
rately what  is  most  refined  and  curiously  shaded  in 
the  human  heart.  He  expresses  frankly  and  vividly 
intimate  descriptive  details  to  which  his  elders  did 
not  descend.  From  poetry  he  demands  neither  rich 
horizons  nor  broad  perspectives.  He  prefers  narrow 
paths  veiled  in  shadow  and  winding  by  secret  turns. 
His  Consolations  show  "  as  marked  a  progress  in 
poetry  as  in  morals."  The  poet  has,  however,  not 
deviated  from  his  first  path.  He  almost  invariably 
starts  out  from  private  life.  A  domestic  incident, 
a  familiar  conversation,  the  reading  of  a  book,  — 
these  are  the  original  themes  of  his  inspiration. 
When    he    soars    higher,  it   is    only   to  "bring  his 


1 88  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

course  to  its  culmination."  In  his  Pensces  cfaoui 
he  dreams  of  a  new  alliance  between  poetry  and 
wisdom,  aiming  to  introduce  as  much  nobility  as 
possible  into  the  real.  "  Monsieur  Jean  "  is  a  sort 
of  bourgeois  Jocelyn.  As  the  verses  of  Joseph 
Delorme  celebrate  obscure  misfortunes,  so  les  Pen- 
sees  d'aoict  sing  of  humble  fidelity,  inglorious  de- 
votion, hidden  charities,  and  silent  virtues.  His 
style  is  well  adapted  to  such  subjects.  He  avoids 
everything  that  glitters,  shuns  eloquence  through 
distaste  for  rhetoric,  allows  himself  only  the  period, 
dislocates  his  rhythm,  and  rejects  all  indiscreet  so- 
nority. He  has  created  a  loose,  ingenious  language, 
full  of  ambages  and  artifices  resembling  snares.  It 
is  a  language  eminently  suited  to  render  the  impres- 
sions of  his  subtle,  involved  soul. 

He  compares  himself  to  an  entrapped  swallow 
unable  to  follow  the  flight  of  its  companions  to 
warmer  skies,  being  therefore  forced  to  endure 
a  season  of  distress  confined  in  an  iron  cage. 
Sainte-Beuve  lacks  breath,  power  of  flight,  and 
range  of  wing.  If  science  renders  fertile  his  poetic 
ideas,  it  is  only  by  refining  them.  The  vein  does 
not  broaden  ;  it  crystallizes.  His  Muse  is  groping, 
insinuating,  equivocal  in  sadness,  and  miserable 
even  in  joy.  Having  come  about  through  force 
of  art  and  will,  his  verses  have  neither  been  colored 
by  the  sun  nor  refreshed  by  the  rain.  The  poet's 
miserly  lyre  scarcely  sanctions  the  escape  of  restless, 
anxious  songs  without  grace  or  freedom.  They  are 
frail  notes  which  secret  research  and  refining  pro- 
cesses have  prematurely  enfeebled  and  despoiled. 


Romantic  Lyricism.  189 

He  laboriously  attempts  to  supplement  his 
plastic  impotence  by  multiplying  the  effect  of  de- 
tails, cunning  shifts,  and  clever  tricks  in  style  and 
versification.  No  poet  has  ever  given  so  much 
attention  to  questions  of  art.  He  unites  with  the 
Romanticists,  not  through  sym.pathy  in  their  con- 
ception of  poetry  or  their  spiritual  and  aristocratic 
leanings,  but  because  the  Jacobin,  the  plebeian 
medical  student,  shares  their  views  upon  the  reform 
of  language  and  versification.  Joseph  Delorme 
forgets  his  heart-rending  despair  to  observe  in 
his  preface  that  this  or  that  superannuated  or  vul- 
garly employed  word  has  been  restored  through 
his  efforts.  However  trifling,  there  is  no  detail 
without  value  in  his  eyes.  It  is  an  artful,  insidious 
style.  His  verse,  which  inclines  towards  prose,  is 
marked  by  its  compact  form,  its  always  exact 
rhyme,  its  many  secrets  of  ear  and  grammar,  and 
by  a  turn  of  construction,  an  unexpected  sound,  or 
even  by  a  letter, 

"quelque  lettre  pressee 
Par  ou  le  vers  pouss6  porte  mieux  la  pensee." 

His  sinuous  and  complicated  soul  cannot  be  inter- 
preted by  ordinary  language.  To  render  all  shades 
he  must  employ  subtle  ruses, —  sometimes  an  ex- 
pression gently  inclined  towards  its  ancient  signi- 
fication, sometimes  a  studied  negligence  or  even 
a  learned  solecism.  All  the  poet's  skill  cannot 
redeem  such  entangled  diction  from  fatigue.  He 
has  never  possessed  what  he  himself  calls  "  le  le- 
ger  de  la  Muse,"  —  that  emanation   of  grace   and 


igo  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

sweetness  which  belongs  to  simpler  hearts  and 
less  conscious  geniuses. 

Sainte-Beuve's  poetical  productions  are,  in  fact, 
but  studies  in  criticism  and  analysis.  He  exercises 
that  manner  peculiar  to  himself  in  the  most  diverse 
tones.  He  seeks  to  fathom  the  secrets  of  his 
masters  and  predecessors,  and  attempts  every- 
thing, if  only  to  comprehend.  He  bends  his  efforts 
to  the  play  of  rhyme;  he  restores  the  sonnet,  that 
invention  of  a  whimsical  god ;  he  writes  a  work 
in  the  mildly  rejuvenated  style  of  the  sixteenth 
century;  he  acclimates  the  sentimental  tenderness 
of  the  English  school,  "  pilfering  a  rivulet  from 
the  dismal  lakes  of  Cowper  and  Wordsworth."  Cer- 
tain of  his  epistles  in  verse  are  veritable  literary 
causeries  in  the  style  of  his  Liuidis,  and  are 
addressed  to  his  brother  critics,  Patin  and  Ville- 
main.  In  his  first  volume  he  reveals  his  taste  for 
books,  for  anas  of  anonymous  birth,  and  informs  us 
how  he  notes  their  virtues  in  passing.  Joseph 
Delorme  interests  himself  in  Malherbe's  sojourn 
at  Carpentras,  in  the  manner  in  which  Menage 
played  his  role  before  Madame  de  Sevigne.  One 
of  his  greatest  pleasures  is  to  find  on  the  quais  a 
Ronsard,  a  Petronius,  or  an  A  Kempis.  He  would 
even  leave  the  virgin  of  the  swan-like  throat  at  a 
ball  to  talk  of  old  books  with  Nodier. 

After  all,  if  Sainte-Beuve  renovated  criticism,  it 
is  because  he  introduced  into  it  the  study  of  mo- 
rality. And  is  not  this  what  gives  his  poetry 
its  peculiar  character?  His  true  style  is  the  "ana- 
lytical elegy."     No  observer  of  the  human  soul  has 


Romantic  Lyricism.  191 

penetrated  deeper  into  the  mysteries  of  the  ego.  His 
Mareze,  Monsieur  Jean,  Duodun,  are  not,  perhaps, 
living  characters,  but  they  are  admirable  anatomical 
studies.  He  has  reached  the  "precision  and  par- 
ticularity that  make  the  beings  of  our  thought  be- 
come entirely  ours  and  recognizable  by  all."  His 
psychological  curiosity  observes  the  slightest  quiv- 
ering of  the  heart,  surprises  the  most  intimate  of 
secrets,  notes  the  most  fugitive  of  emotions,  and 
distinguishes  the  most  imperceptible  of  shades. 
Others  greater  or  more  richly  endowed  than  he 
restored  poetry  to  spontaneity  and  primitive  can- 
dor ;  with  him  it  is  the  production  of  an  aged, 
complex,  subtle  civilization,  whose  restless  refine- 
ments and  languid  affectations  have  been  expressed 
by  his  oblique  style.  In  this  he  is  the  first  ancestor 
of  those  who,  fifty  years  later,  will  come  to  call 
themselves  "Decadents."  "I  am  considered  but 
a  critic,"  he  said  towards  the  close  of  his  career ; 
''but  I  did  not  abandon  poetry  without  having  left 
there  my  sting." 

If  Sainte-Beuve  was  never  young,  Alfred  de 
Musset  was  above  all  else  the  poet  of  youth. 
Smiling  upon  life,  the  elect  of  genius,  the  betrothed 
of  love,  he  appears  with  a  candid,  haughty  eye, 
the  bloom  of  spring  on  his  cheek,  a  song  on  his 
lips.  What  gayety,  what  youthful  freshness ! 
What  turbulent  ardor  in  pleasure  and  dissipation! 
Back  with  "decrepit  age"!  Give  room  to  eager, 
impetuous,  triumphant  adolescence !  Make  way 
for  the  poet  of  eighteen  whose  heart  beats  at  the 


192  Literary  Movement  in  France, 

first  summons,  whose  forehead  is  gilded  by  the 
first  rays  of  glory !  His  heart  opens;  he  suffers; 
he  sings  of  his  pain.  The  volatile  ballads  of  the 
Cherubim  are  followed  by  Don  Juan's  impassioned 
accents.  Every  wave  lures  him,  even  the  most 
impure,  where  he  hopes  to  find  a  remote  reflection 
of  his  adored  ideal.  And  when  love  no  longer 
blossoms  on  a  prematurely  withered  stalk,  he 
feels  that  all  the  charm  of  life  has  vanished  with 
the  spring,  that  genius  itself  cannot  survive  the 
incapacity  to  love.  Eleven  years  after  the  petulant 
fervors  and  cavalier  graces  of  his  debut,  when 
his  years  had  scarcely  sounded  thirty,  he  sits  down 
at  his  desk  with  his  head  in  his  hands  to  dream  of 
a  past  of  tarnished  memories,  of  a  future  that 
favors  no  hope.  For  others,  thirty  is  the  age  of  vig- 
orous, productive  maturity ;  for  Cherubim,  it  is  the 
period  of  decline  and  lassitude.  After  several  always 
more  rare  efforts  to  reform,  follows  a  precocious  old 
age,  both  idle  and  sterile,  with  no  work  assigned, 
no  duty  to  accomplish.  All  is  finished  ;  he  resigns 
himself  to  existence,  lacking  interest  in  life,  rather 
detesting  it.  He  assists  in  his  own  ruin,  further- 
ing it  by  recourse  to  fictitious  intoxications.  He 
seeks  the  waters  of  Jouvence  even  in  the  muddy 
pools  of  the  gutters,  always  sinking  lower  into  the 
depths  of  a  mournful  silence.  With  youth,  the 
poet  of  youth  had  lost  all ;  when  he  died  to  love, 
he  was  also  dead  to  poetry. 

Alfred  de  Musset  abandoned  his  life  to  the 
hazards  of  fancy,  and  his  genius  to  the  caprices 
of  inspiration.     Later  the  poet  bore  the  penance  of 


Romantic  Lyricism.  193 

a  natural  inconstancy,  indolence,  and  aversion  to 
all  discipline,  already  foreshadowed  by  an  idle, 
desultory  youth.  Nervous  and  whimsical  as  a  child, 
he  continues  to  allow  himself  to  drift  without  the 
power  to  restrain  himself.  His  youth  is  scattered 
to  all  winds,  and  his  soul's  treasures  are  squandered. 
He  makes  his  entire  life  consist  in  the  delirium 
of  a  morbid,  exalted  passion,  which,  although  it  at 
first  feeds  his  genius,  is  not  long  in  consuming  it. 

He  was  at  times  a  great  poet,  but  he  was  not  an 
accomplished  artist.  His  debut  was  made  under 
the  auspices  and  in  the  fellowship  of  the  "Cenacle-" 
But  the  example  of  his  elders  —  scrupulous  arti- 
sans in  composition  —  did  not  prevent  him  from 
giving  free  rein  almost  at  once,  and  seeking  even 
in  negligence  an  originality  of  impure  alloy.  If, 
like  Mardoche,  he  rhymes  idee  with  fackee,  it  is  "  in 
order  to  distinguish  himself  from  that  rhyming  school 
which  considers  pure  form  only."  But  such  weak- 
nesses are,  after  all,  quite  excusable ;  they  may  now 
and  then  pass  for  an  added  charm  in  the  poet  who 
has  never  been  captivated  by  the  descriptive  school 
and  who  demands  all  his  inspirations  from  sentiment. 
He  shook  off  not  only  the  yoke  of  rhyme ;  with 
language  he  also  took  liberties,  not  to  be  atoned 
for  by  all  the  native  seduction  of  a  happy,  facile 
genius.  In  his  best  works  there  are  obscurities, 
inapt  expressions,  and  sometimes  solecisms.  He 
composes  almost  "  without  thinking  about  it." 
Now,  the  poet  should  have  said  that  "  only  the 
work  of  time  and  meditation  is  truly  fine,  that  there 
is    no    true   genius    without    patience."     We    find 

T3 


194  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

many  "  truly  beautiful  "  pages  in  Musset ;  but  if 
there  are  few  of  perfect  execution,  it  is  precisely 
because  he  lacked  patience. 

His  poetics  can  be  summed  up  in  one  line :  — 

"Ah  !  frappe-toi  le  coeur,  c'est  la  qu'est  le  genie." 

When  his  hand  writes,  "  it  is  the  dissolving  of  his 
heart."  Poetry,  as  he  conceives  it,  consists  in 
listening  to  the  voice  of  genius  within  the  heart." 
To  works  "constructed  by  art,"  he  opposes  those 
"created  by  the  heart."  To  him  "art  is  senti- 
ment;" and  he  writes  to  his  brother:  "  Emotion  is 
necessary  to  the  artist  or  poet;  when  I  experi- 
ence a  certain  beating  of  the  heart  that  I  well 
know,  I  am  sure  that  my  verse  is  of  the  best 
quality." 

Of  all  our  poets,  he  has  brought  the  most  pas- 
sionate fervor  into  poetry.  He  voices  his  emotion 
while  it  is  still  expanding,  allowing  it  to  gush 
forth  in  its  eager  violence,  unreservedly  surrender- 
ing it  vibrating  with  ardent  sincerity.  Pain  or  joy, — 
everything  seeks  to  escape  from  his  breast,  and 
that  immediately.  Others  part  with  their  most 
personal  impressions  when  the  moment  arrives ; 
but,  like  the  pelican  whose  anguish  he  has  cele- 
brated, he  delivers  up  his  own  entrails  for  food. 
He  allows  not  only  his  tears  to  flow,  but  also  the 
blood  from  his  wound. 

Herein  lies  his  greatness,  and  in  this  also  consists 
his  weakness.  Far  from  mastering  his  emotion,  he 
becomes  its  prey.  The  ardor  of  his  feelings  bears 
him  along  in  spite  of  himself,  and  he    rushes    on 


Romanize  Lyricism.  195 

unrestrained,  unhindered  by  a  single  false  step. 
He  does  not  compose  his  subjects ;  he  dashes  into 
them  with  lowered  head.  He  one  day  remarked  : 
"  In  the  midst  of  a  scene  or  a  fragment  of  poetry, 
it  suddenly  occurs  to  me  to  change  routes,  overthrow 
my  first  design,  and  turn  against  my  chosen  char- 
acter ;  though  I  had  started  out  for  Madrid,  I  am 
on  the  way  to  Constantinople."  There  are  jerks 
and  bounds  in  his  works  ;  he  proceeds  by  exclama- 
tions, apostrophes,  —  that  is,  by  successive  jets  of 
passion.  Hence  the  breaks,  so  to  speak,  those 
hiatuses  for  which  he  has  been  condemned,  —  not 
the  intentional  incoherences  of  his  conies,  de- 
signedly without  head  or  tail,  but  the  "  solutions 
of  continuity  "  sometimes  evident  in  his  most 
sustained  poems,  and  also  the  main  weakness  of 
his  dramas. 

He  has  no  inventive  power.  His  characters  are 
beings  of  transparent  ideality,  colored  by  the  caprices 
of  his  fantasy,  and  his  subjects  the  first  love  tales 
presented,  though  animated  by  an  exquisite  sensi- 
bility and  containing  here  and  there  admirable 
impassioned  couplets.  Neither  does  he  possess 
vigor  of  thought.  He  feels,  aspires,  dreams,  but 
does  not  think.  It  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  take 
note  of  the  frivolous,  impious  persiflage  of  the 
Bohemian,  which  finds  its  worthy  interpreter  in 
Mardoche.  But  two  or  three  times  has  he  seriously 
considered  the  supreme  question ;  yet  what  a 
limited  and  superficial  philosophy  do  we  find  in 
I'Espoir  en  Dieu  !  Alfred  de  Musset's  is  a  purely 
emotional  nature.     Everything  has  its  source  in  the 


196  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

heart,  even  esprit  when  he  makes  no  pretence  to  it, 
even  imagination  which  never  unfolds  of  itself;  with 
him  imagination  takes  the  color  of  sentiment,  just 
as  esprit  is  its  lively,  piquant  charm. 

The  poet  first  made  himself  known  by  songs 
whose  graceful  impertinence  formed  a  striking  con- 
trast to  the  melancholy,  somewhat  solemn  gravity 
of  his  elders.  He  amused  himself  with  college 
pranks  ;  scandalized  the  "  chemists  of  good  taste  ;  " 
performed  childish  capers  with  a  wanton,  waggish 
iirace.  Later  he  finds  in  Reofnier  a  master  of 
picturesque  language ;  his  Contes  d' Espagne  et 
d'ltalie  unite  to  their  meridional  vehemence  quite 
a  Gallic  vein  of  candor  in  description  and  ingen- 
uousness in  familiarity.  He  delights  in  scenes  of 
murder  and  debauch,  and  leaves  a  tavern  only  to 
wander  way  ward  :  in  these  pictures  his  incisive  verse 
pushes  energy  to  brutality.  Sometimes,  however, 
the  braggart  cynicism  of  this  poet  of  twenty  from 
time  to  time  allows  a  fresh  ballad,  a  pure,  sweet 
couplet,  something  naive  and  limpid,  a  native  can- 
dor, to  reappear.  His  esprit  is  often  marred  by 
the  affectations  of  an  antiquated  dandyism,  but, 
when  unconscious,  sports  and  frolics  with  charming 
airiness.  His  poetry  already  possesses  facile  bril- 
liancy, natural  justness  in  imagery,  ease  and  flexi- 
bility in  movement ;  while  awaiting  passion,  it  has 
grace,  freshness,  fantasy,  a  clear,  frank  ring,  a  ray 
of  malicious  gayety. 

After  his  Contes  ct Espagne  et  dlialie,  the  poet 
passes  through  a  period  of  transition,  during  which 
he  seems  to  hesitate  and  seek  himself.     The  defini- 


Romantic  Lyricism.  197 

tive  Musset  is  to  be  found  in  his  Voeux  steriles  and 
Raphciel.  Here  he  lays  aside  fantastic  costumes,  and 
renounces  all  mannerisms  and  contraband  exoti- 
cism. Henceforth  he  bares  his  heart  to  us.  For  the 
first  time  the  spring  of  tears  opens  :  — 

"  Des  pleurs,  le  croirais-tu, 
Tandis  que  j'^crivais  ont  baign^  mon  visage." 

In  la  Coupe  et  les  Levres  and  Namouna  he  por- 
trays himself.  The  extravagant  verbiage  and  in- 
tolerable fatuity  of  the  twenty-five  or  thirty  lines  of 
the  latter  are  redeemed  by  their  ardent  lyricism. 
We  also  find  the  author  in  Rolla,  an  absurd  tale, 
whose  poverty  of  substance,  many  puerile  invec- 
tives, and  breathless  tirades  are  atoned  for  by  an 
incomparable  eloquence  of  heart.  Alfred  de  Mus- 
set divined  passion  before  it  clutched  his  vitals,  for 
he  had  already  inhaled  its  fervors  and  deliriums. 
Drawn  into  the  abyss,  the  timid  child  leaning  over 
the  water's  edge  looks  into  the  hearts  of  his  older 
friends,  seeking  to  discover  their  limitless  pains,  and 
envying  not  only  love's  frenzies,  but  also  its  wounds 
and  stings.  He  is  like  a  horse  foolishly  continuing 
to  advance,  its  flanks  pricked  by  the  spur  points 
until  they  reek  with  foam  and  gore. 

Now  the  poet  is  caught  in  the  flames  by  which 
he  sought  to  enkindle  himself.  On  his  return  from 
Italy  he  passes  four  whole  months  weeping  in  his 
room.  These  tears  purify  and  consecrate  his  genius. 
But  what  matters  it  now  whether  his  May  and 
December  Nights  sing  of  the  same  passion  ?  With 
Alfred  de   Musset,  as   with  most  poets,  sentiment 


198  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

tends  to  renew  itself.  Once  touched  by  passion,  he 
is  condemned  to  love  without  cessation  ;  and,  as  long 
as  it  is  lighted  by  a  ray  of  the  ideal,  will  it  continue 
to  produce  immortal  songs.  In  reality,  in  all  of  his 
Nights,  and  in  all  of  his  most  passionate  compo- 
sitions, inspiration,  sharpened  by  each  new  passion, 
always  issues  from  the  same  wound,  —  from  that 
sacred  wound  inflicted  by  evil  seraphs.  The  five 
years  following  his  return  from  Italy  are  the  most 
fertile  of  his  career.  His  compositions  of  this 
period  hereafter  place  him  among  the  greatest. 
He  brings  to  the  elegy  an  intensity  of  sentiment 
and  a  depth  of  emotion  to  which  are  allied  the  grace 
and  freshness  of  a  youth  which,  although  wounded, 
still  clings  to  life.  His  Nights,  his  Ode  a  la  Mali- 
bran,  and  his  Letter  to  Lamartine  are  the  highest 
expression  of  his  lyrical  genius.  He  has  parted 
with  irony  and  sarcasm,  and,  far  from  revolting 
against  suffering,  accepts,  blesses,  and  celebrates  its 
sacred  mission.  He  has  no  other  Muse  than  that 
angel  of  pain  which  lifts  him  in  its  arms  to  the 
heights  of  immortal  hopes. 

For  Alfred  de  Musset  love  was  "  the  only  good 
here  below."  *'  Wherefore,  indeed,  call  love  a  pas- 
time, and  law  an  important  matter!  "  he  wrote  while 
still  at  college.  And  in  his  Confession  :  "  I  did  not 
dream  that  one  could  do  otherwise  than  love." 
His  entire  work  hangs  upon  the  idea  that  passion 
is  a  holy  thing,  that  those  who  experience  it  should 
consecrate  even  its  most  cruel  torments.  For  it 
alone  is  life  worth  living.  One  of  his  heroes  says, 
"  What !  you  do  not  love,  and   yet  you  talk  of  liv- 


Romantic  Lyricism.  199 

ing  ! "  Love  is  the  sole  good,  and  only  in  suffer- 
ing do  we  divine  the  secret  of  the  happy.  What  is 
o[:enius  ?  But  the  need  of  lovintr.  Love  is  Mus- 
set's  only  religion ;  one  may  doubt  everything  but 
love.  His  Tableau  cTEglise  shows  us  Christ 
kneeling  at  the  feet  of  Mary  Magdalene  on  that 
ghastly   night  in  the    Garden   of   Olives. 

Alfred  de  Musset  has  certainly  profoundly  ex- 
perienced true  passion,  —  that  into  which  enters  a 
sort  of  exaltation  superior  to  the  senses,  as  it  were, 
a  sacred  fervor.  But  debauch  early  implanted  its 
first  nail  in  his  breast.  If  love  really  represents 
the  sole  good  in  the  world,  the  poet  will  drink 
intoxication  from  no  matter  what  flagon,  and  the 
habit  of  libertinage  will  finally  render  him  incapa- 
ble of  all  love.  Alfred  de  Musset's  work,  indeed  his 
entire  life,  is  absorbed  by  this  struggle  between  love 
and  debauch.  He  cannot  do  without  loving,  and 
happiness  can  be  found  only  in  enjoyment.  He 
relapses  ceaselessly,  and  each  time  lower.  He  ends 
by  submerging  in  degradation  the  vision  he  pursues 
and  cannot  grasp.  And  when  it  reappears  before 
him,  debauch  has  finally  stifled  all  true  sentiment. 
He  is  Frank :  Belcolor,  the  Siren  of  the  senses, 
kills  his  Deimamia,  the  angel  of  pure,  chaste  affec- 
tions. He  is  Lorenzaccio :  vice,  which  had  first 
been  but  a  cloak,  ends  by  clinging  fast  to  his  flesh. 
He  is  Octave :  when  happiness  smiles  from  the 
eyes  of  the  woman  he  loves,  an  ineradicable  pollu- 
tion leaks  into  the  heart  of  his  happiness  to  corrupt 
it.  "  A  debauche  too  late  repentant,"  says  the 
"  Enfant  du  Siecle,"  "  is  like  a  leaking  vessel,  able 


200  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

neither  to  return  to  shore  nor  to  continue  its  route. 
In  vain  do  the  winds  drive  it  onward  ;  the  ocean 
draws  it  unto  itself,  but  to  turn  over  and  finally  dis- 
appear." 

Having  been  born  several  years  too  late  to  be 
drifted  with  his  elders  by  the  movement  of  moral  re- 
naissance which  vivified  and  fertilized  their  inspira- 
tion, upon  his  entrance  into  the  world  he  witnessed 
thequarryof  1830.  He  cried:  "Everything  in  Europe 
is  dead."  His  lofty  beliefs  and  valiant  conceptions 
were  soon  tarnished  by  a  precocious  scepticism, 
withering  all  human  and  divine  pity.  Does  he  love 
liberty }  On  the  condition  of  being  able  to  sleep  in 
the  midst  of  the  tumult.  Does  he  love  his  country .? 
Why  not  as  well  as  Turkey  or  Persia  1  The  Maid 
of  Orleans  he  constitutes  Mardoche's  ancestor;  a 
glass  of  white  wine  he  makes  to  contain  the  Rhine. 
He  should  not  be  judged  by  capricious  fancies  like 
these,  but  rather  let  us  examine  his  entire  work. 
We  find  neither  a  ray  of  generous  cordiality  in  his 
youth,  nor  any  conception  of  reflective  wisdom  in 
his  maturity.  He  never  became  impassioned  for 
any  noble  cause,  never  disposed  his  life  in  view  of 
any  task.  He  has  been  the  poet  neither  of  nature, 
nor  of  the  conscience,  nor  yet  of  humanity.  What  of 
his  work  then  lives  ?  Love  alone.  Yet  he  did  not 
sing  its  sweet  affections  and  pure  pleasures,  but  its 
fervors,  deliriums,  and  tumultuous  transports  fol- 
lowed by  mute  exhaustion.  What  is  most  feverish, 
most  exasperated  in  passion  is  his  sole  domain. 
This  sceptical  scoffer,  who  ridicules  his  native  land, 
mocks  libert3%  and  despises  himself  at  twenty,  has 


Romantic  Lyricism.  201 

really  believed  only  in  love ;  and  if  he  was  a  great 
poet,  it  is  less  on  account  of  having  reaped  its 
rewards  than  from  having  suffered  through  it. 

Theophile  Gautier  made  his  debut  several 
months  later,  and  at  the  same  age  as  Musset.  He 
took  part  in  the  great  campaign  of  Hernani,  and  no 
one  among  the  new  recruits  of  Romanticism  dis- 
played more  enthusiasm  or  exhibited  more  gaudy 
vests.  He  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  "  Jeune- 
France,"  so  violent  against  the  vulgarity  and 
insipidity  of  bourgeois  manners,  which  he  himself 
was  to  portray  with  light,  sympathetic  irony.  Once 
the  great  revolution  accomplished,  Romanticism 
reverted  to  positive  questions  of  art  and  compo- 
sition. While  Musset  broke  away  from  the  school 
at  the  outset,  Gautier,  on  the  contrary,  became 
more  and  more  involved  in  it,  finally  seeing  only 
what  is  purely  formal  in  poetry.  He  was  presented 
to  Victor  Hugo  in  1829,  and  appeared  under  his 
protection.  He  always  continued  to  render  hom- 
age to  his  master,  only  consenting  to  become  the 
familiar  friend  of  the  Princess  Mathilde  under  the 
second  Empire,  on  condition  of  remaining  free  to  do 
so.  His  admiration  for  Victor  Hugo  was  confined 
particularly  to  the  artist,  and  les  Orientales  always 
remained  his  poetic  gospel.  In  fact,  he  made  a 
place  for  himself  among  his  contemporaries  only 
by  improving  upon  his  master's  art,  by  contracting 
and  enclosing  it  in  a  denser  form. 

As  an  artist  only  is  he  original.     His  first  vol- 
ume   owes    its    inspiration    to    Victor    Hugo    and 


202  Literary  Afovemeni  in  France. 

Sainte-Beuve ;  to  the  mediaeval  and  oriental  side 
of  the  one,  and  to  certain  attempts  of  the  other 
in  the  line  of  familiar  elegy,  not  always  preserved 
from  insipidity  by  their  youthful  grace.  Albertus 
is  an  extravagant  "  legend,"  in  which  the  poet 
develops  a  commonplace  morality  through  all  sorts 
of  strange  transitions  and  painfully  absurd  digres- 
sions. Here  his  imitation  of  Musset  is  quite 
marked,  and,  though  its  technical  form  is  more  se- 
vere, there  are  the  same  affectations  of  "  dandyism," 
with  him,  however,  blended  with  Macabrian  gri- 
maces. His  Comedie  de  la  mort  is  animated  by 
deep,  intense  feeling,  but  its  substance  was  fur- 
nished by  Goethe,  Jean-Paul,  and  Quinet;  the 
Don  Juan  he  presents  strikingly  resembles  that 
of  Namouna.  Theophile  Gautier  is  in  fact  him- 
self only  when  he  is  restricted  to  material,  descriptive 
poetry. 

We  must  not  look  to  him  for  great  depth  of 
philosophical  insight.  His  entire  philosophy  con- 
sists in  weird,  puerile  superstitions.  He  believes 
in  dreams  and  sorcery,  also  to  a  certain  extent  in 
the  devil,  and  in  the  same  manner  in  God.  Of  all 
the  Romantic  poets,  he  has  given  the  least  thought 
to  problems  and  systems.  Victor  Hugo  some- 
times draws  from  pantheism  curious  but  very  effec- 
tive inspirations  ;  Gautier  makes  it  the  framework 
of  a  dainty  madrigal.  He  sees  only  the  exterior 
appearance  of  things.  Nature,  his  special  domain, 
feasts  his  eyes  without  troubling  his  brain,  and 
supplies  spectacles  without  proposing  enigmas. 
For    "  temporal    affairs "    he    professes    the    most 


Romantic  Lyricism.  203 

scornful  indifference.  He  concerns  himself  little 
about  being  a  good  citizen,  considering  the  uni- 
form of  the  Garde  National  unbecoming  to  an 
artist.  "  Useful  things  "  arouse  his  unconquerable 
aversion  ;  he  finds  them  vulgar,  trivial,  and  beneath 
attention.  He  is  interested  solely  in  what  is 
beautiful.  He  thinks  everything  is  as  it  should  be, 
rhythm  being  granted,  and  prefers  roses  to  the 
discourses  of  magnanimous  tribunes.  During  the 
stormy  days  of  '48  he  closes  his  windows  and 
composes  his  Emaux  et  Camees,  paying  no  heed  to 
the  tempest  that  lashes  about  him.  It  is  as  useless 
to  talk  to  him  upon  questions  of  morality  as  upon 
politics.  His  theory  is  that  everything  beautiful 
bears  its  own  teaching.  He  does  not  write  for  little 
girls  whose  bread  is  cut  into  squares ;  nor  does  he 
hesitate  to  shock  the  sickly  modesty  of  the  middle 
class.  Gautier  cannot  be  accused  of  immorality, 
for  he  has  no  notion  of  it,  and  furthermore  does 
not  wish  to  recognize  it.  Neither  Nature  nor  the 
arts  have  taught  it  to  him.  In  it  he  doubtless  sees 
but  an  intricate  "  utilitarian  "  machine,  constructed 
in  the  interest  of  the  social  police  by  honest  law- 
makers who  are  not  artists. 

Can  he  also  be  denied  sensibility  ?  This  would 
be  the  conclusion  of  a  too  superficial  criticism. 
We  will  not  consider  his  first  volume,  but  in  those 
that  follow  it  he  does  not  confine  himself  to 
description :  the  elegiac  vein  is  by  no  means  rare, 
and  there  are  even  many  passages  of  penetrating 
melancholy.  Among  other  selections  of  his  Poesies 
diverses  let  us  re-read  his  Laments  also  that  so  plain- 


204  Literary  Moveme^it  in  France. 

tive  song  with  the  refrain,  mournful  as  a  death- 
knell,  — 

"  H^las  !  j'ai  dans  le  cceur  une  tristesse  affreuse." 

His  pictures  of  Spain  are  very  often  animated 
by  quite  personal  sentiments.  Gautier  veils  his 
emotion  when  he  does  not  conceal  it.  He  dis- 
likes making  a  spectacle  of  himself  and  bemoan- 
ing his  lot  in  public.  A  '•  grief  that  makes  a 
great  stir"  is  not  for  him.  Has  he  not  said  that 
his   verses    "very  often    weep  when   they  seem    to 


smg    : 


Many  poems  of  his  Emaux  et  Camees  contain  ac- 
cents of  emotion.  What  more  melancholy  lament 
than  Tristesse  en  merl  La  Symphonie  en  blanc  ma- 
jeur  ends  with  a  burst  of  passion:  ah,  who  could 
melt  the  heart  of  that  relentlessly  white  Madonna  of 
ice  and  snow?  In  his  Clair  de  lune  sentimental  the 
poet  weeps  an  old  love  with  tears  of  blood.  He 
would  burst  out  into  sobs  on  hearing  les  Vieux 
de  la  vieille  read.  His  always  disguised  or  restrained 
passion  does  not  wring  from  him  cries  like  those 
of  Alfred  de  Musset ;  yet  he  is  not  the  impassible 
dilettante  he  pretends  :  we  can  divine  his  emotion 
beneath  the  mask  of  irony  with  which  he  covers 
himself.  Has  he  not  compared  the  poet  to  the  pine- 
tree  of  barren  lands?  When  he  is  without  wounds, 
he  keeps  his  treasure  to  himself;  it  is  through 
the  sfashes  in  his  heart  that  his  verses  leak  divine 

O 

tears  of  gold. 

Fear   of  death   was  the   deepest  feeling  Gautier 
ever  experienced.     There  is    no  poet  whom  death 


Romantic  Lyricism.  205 

has  not  inspired ;  also  none  for  whom  the  thought 
has  been  so  dolefully  lugubrious.  He  meets  with 
this  sinister  apparition  while  singing  along  the 
pathway  of  life's  spring.  Here,  it  is  a  woman 
radiant  with  youth  and  beauty  ;  there,  a  death-head 
with  its  toothless  grin,  its  blunt  nose,  and  hollow 
eye,  —  all  that  remains  of  youth  and  beauty.  The 
horrible  sorceress  in  Albertus  is  no  other  than 
*'  living  death,"  an  "  infamous  hag,"  the  "  eternal 
courtesan,"  whose  spectre  always  rises  up  before 
him.  Terror  is  the  muse  of  la  Comedie  de  la  morl ; 
and  even  though  the  tomb  may  not  deliver  up  its 
secrets,  the  poet  has,  for  all  that,  expressed  in  their 
poignancy  the  disgust  and  horror  it  arouses.  The 
same  shudder  of  anguish  runs  here  and  there  through 
all  his  works.  Although  he  brings  back  color  and 
imagery  from  his  first  voyage  to  Spain,  this  chilling, 
funereal  thought  does  not  cease  to  haunt  him.  He 
reads  the  inscription  on  the  Cathedral  of  Urrugue ; 
draws  crystalline  water  tasting  of  corpses  from  the 
fountain  of  its  cemetery ;  leaves  the  woman  of  Ver- 
gara  to  watch  a  passing  bier,  and,  when  she  seeks  to 
detain  him,  it  occurs  to  him  that  her  flaming  eye 
and  beautiful  perfumed  form  will  also  soon  turn  to 
fetid  dust. 

Gautier  dreads  above  all  things  the  ugliness  of 
death.  Others  are  troubled  by  the  uncertainty  of 
what  lies  beyond.  Nothing  moral  or  philosophical 
enters  into  his  terror:  it  is  the  invincible  repug- 
nance of  the  lover  of  the  beautiful  for  a  hideous, 
grimacing  skeleton. 

Fear  of  death  and  adoration  for  the  beautiful  — 


2o6  Literary  Move?7ient  in  France. 

the  one  explained  by  the  other  —  is  the  real  basis 
of  the  poet's  nature,  of  the  poet  who  says,  — 

"Mes  vers  sont  des  tombeaux  tout  brod^s  de  sculpture." 

He  has  sung  of  beauty  in  its  robust  splendor, 
and  by  the  cult  of  beautiful  forms  he  has  really 
made  "  a  bifurcation  from  the  ghastly  corpses  of  the 
Romantic  school,"  as  he  boasts  of  having  done. 
The  beauty  he  loves  is  merely  plastic ;  he  demands 
not  the  expression  of  sentiment  but  the  perfection  of 
contours.  The  beauty  he  adores  has  no  soul,  no 
moral  physiognomy.  It  is  Beauty ;  not  a  mortal  to 
be  loved,  but  a  goddess  at  whose  feet  one  may  kneel. 
Gautier  has  voiced  neither  the  tenderness  nor  the 
frenzies  of  love.  To  him  woman  is  a  sort  of  poem, 
the  poem  of  a  form  without  blemish,  grouping  its 
nude  charms  in  a  series  of  sculptural  stanzas. 

He  is  a  pagan ;  he  was  born  for  Greece,  and  those 
happy  times  of  ancient  art  when  elegantly  turned 
vases  received  the  ashes  of  the  dead.  However, 
this  pagan  traversed  the  middle  ages,  and  its  terrors 
have  clung  to  him.  He  is  a  pagan  with  Catholic 
superstitions.  While  standing  in  ecstasy  before  the 
Beautiful,  the  harmonious  contours  of  the  Grecian 
Venus  assume  the  outlines  of  the  horrible  skeleton 
no  longer  burned  on  the  funeral  pyre. 

A  cry  escapes  him  :  oh  that  ancient  art  might  come 
and  cover  the  skeleton  with  its  glittcrinor  marble ! 
Because  he  loved  life  has  he  so  poignantly  expressed 
the  horror  of  the  grave,  the  glories  of  nature,  the 
wealth  of  the  sensible  world,  all  that  is  sonorous  and 
luminous   about  us,  —  rhymes  that   caress   the  ear, 


Romantic  Lyricism.  207 

exquisite  proportions  that  appeal  to  the  eye.  Gau- 
tier  passed  from  painting  into  poetry.  It  has, 
doubtless,  often  been  remarked  that  he  sought  to  do 
with  his  pen  what  he  might  have  accomplished  with 
his  brush.  Through  this  the  disciple  of  Romanti- 
cism in  his  turn  became  the  leader  of  a  school. 
The  poet  excels  when  he  limits  himself  to  the  re- 
production of  appearances,  giving  little  place  to 
thought  and  feeling,  and  without  betraying  more  of 
himself  than  accuracy  of  eye  and  marvellous  dex- 
terity of  hand.  Very  often  he  observes  nature  only 
as  already  translated  by  art.  In  his  first  volume  he 
reproduces  a  canvas  by  Lancresson  and  another  by 
his  former  master,  Rioult ;  in  Albertus  he  devotes 
a  stanza  to  describing  one  of  his  hero's  paintings. 
Belgian  landscapes  represent  nothing  more  than 
"  crude  imitations  of  Ruysdael."  As  a  novelist,  he 
makes  studies  in  color,  removing  his  subjects  from 
time  and  space  in  order  to  obtain  more  picturesque 
effects ;  as  a  traveller,  his  relations  to  the  countries 
he  visits  are  represented  only  by  a  series  of  pictures; 
as  a  theatrical  critic,  pictorial  effects  interest  him 
more  than  characters.  He  sometimes  repents  of 
having  left  the  palette  for  the  inkstand.  Feeling 
himself  powerless  to  reproduce  beauty  before  Julia 
Grisi  in  her  box,  he  deplores  words  without  relief 
and  rhymes  without  color.  His  entire  effort  is 
directed  towards  conquering  the  hopeless  infe- 
riority of  poetry  as  opposed  to  painting  in  respect 
to  fulness  of  expression. 

Hence   arises    his  superstitious    cult   for    words. 
Poetry  begins  with  the  knowledge  of  words,  for  in 


2o8  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

this  lies  the  poet's  science,  and  proceeds  by  select- 
ing them ;  for  in  this  consists  the  poet's  art,  indeed 
his  most  precious  gift.  No  one  has  more  pro- 
foundly understood  nor  more  skilfully  employed 
the  resources  of  our  vocabulary.  To  Gautier,  "  that 
man  was  no  writer  who  could  not  express  every- 
thing, who  might  be  caught  unawares  and  without 
material  to  give  form  to  an  idea  falling  like  a  pearl 
from  the  moon,  however  subtle  and  unexpected 
that  idea  may  be."  His  first  advice  to  young  poets 
was  to  read  all  kinds  of  dictionaries.  He  believed 
that  words  possess  a  value  independent  of  the  ideas 
they  express.  His  manuscripts  were  never  punc- 
tuated, because  he  wished  no  indiscreet  sign  to  alter 
the  appearance  of  his  words.  These  he  compared 
to  precious  stones  cut  by  the  jeweller.  He  loved 
them  for  themselves,  for  their  form,  for  their  shad- 
ing, and  for  their  sonority.  "  Poetry  consists  in 
radiant  words  full  of  light,  music,  and  rhythm,"  he 
says.  In  his  grouping  of  words,  less  according  to 
their  logical  import  than  for  the  purpose  of  musi- 
cal and  picturesque  effect,  the  present  "  decadent  " 
or  "  symbolist "  school  can  justly  claim  him  as  their 
ancestor. 

Adoration  for  form  led  Gautier  to  the  theory 
of  art  for  art's  sake,  already  quite  antiquated,  having 
formerly  been  professed  by  the  poets  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  He  succeeded  in  reviving  this 
theory  by  his  arrogant  and  systematic  manner  of 
presenting  it.  Indifferent  to  all  that  does  not 
concern  art,  he  confines  it  to  pure  form,  pretending 
that  it  is  sufficient  unto  itself,  and  concluding  that, 


Romantic  Lyricism.  209 

if  the  artist  requires  matter,  it  can  be  of  value  only 
in  an  aesthetic  sense.  According  to  him,  the  sub- 
ject is  "  entirely  immaterial  to  painters  of  pure 
race,"  and  whatever  he  expresses  in  words  in  regard 
to  painting,  also  applies  to  poetry.  But  if  "  motifs  " 
are  in  themselves  indifferent  to  him,  he  believes 
that  the  artist  must  naturally  prefer  those  which 
permit  him  to  employ  his  skill  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. Hence  a  more  and  more  marked  tendency 
to  reduce  matter  to  the  minimum  of  what  is  indis- 
pensable to  support  art.  The  substance  of  his  works 
is  too  often  weighted  by  their  form,  and  rarities  of 
style  also  further  accentuate  the  insignificance  of 
their  foundation. 

Besides  the  many  studied  refinements  and  em- 
bellishments of  Gautier's  style,  the  bareness  and 
harshness  sometimes  evident  in  the  marvellous 
clearness  of  his  expression  and  the  artificiality  of 
his  perpetual  imagery  can  also  be  criticised.  But 
whatever  criticisms  we  may  pass  upon  the  artist, 
he  remains,  for  all  that,  an  excellent  craftsman  in 
style  and  versification,  and  in  this  is  he  distin- 
guished from  all  the  poets  of  his  time.  In  consid- 
ing  art  an  object  in  itself,  the  author  of  Ematix 
et  Camees  exaggerates  this  idea  until  he  no  longer 
sees  that,  though  form  may  be  of  great  importance, 
it  can  only  be  upon  the  condition  that  it  expresses 
something.  Art  is  the  only  god  he  has  served. 
He  has  had  no  other  religion  than  a  rigid,  jeal- 
ous code  of  aesthetics,  the  guardian  of  clear  forms 
and  severe  outlines.  He  has  rejected  convenient 
rhymes,  despised  soft  clay  to  battle   with    marble, 

u 


2IO  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

subjected  inspiration  to  the  constraints  of  rigorous 
technique,  and  fancy  to  the  discipHne  of  rules. 
Lamartine  too  often  allowed  the  reins  to  slacken, 
Musset  affected  a  fashionable  scorn  for  the  poet's 
profession,  and  their  disciples  —  all  vapory  elegiacs 
or  bare-breasted  humorists — were  alike  unscrupu- 
lous in  the  use  of  rhythm  and  language.  It  was, 
therefore,  no  doubt,  a  good  thing  that  Theophile 
Gautier  maintained  the  exigencies  of  art  in  all  their 
severity,  that  he  never  pardoned  an  inapt  word  nor 
an  inexact  rhyme,  and  that  he  confined  himself  to 
expressing  contours  and  appearances  in  an  abso- 
lutely pure  and  correct   form. 

Among  the  numberless  poets  of  the  Romantic 
school,  there  are  two  others,  the  authors  of  les 
lambes  and  Marie,  who,  though  doubtless  quite 
inferior  to  those  just  considered,  differ  essentially 
from  them.  Both  of  these  poets  possess  an  ori- 
ginal vein,  —  in  the  first,  fervid  and  muddy  ;  in  the 
second,  contained  and  of  pure  and  delicate  tenuity. 

In  Pianto  Auguste  Barbier,  either  in  lamenting 
over  Italy's  coffin  or  predicting  her  glorious  resur- 
rection, has  found  accents,  sometimes  of  devout 
affection,  sometimes  of  generous  entreaty.  We 
will  not,  however,  find  the  poet's  originality  in  this 
volume.  Barbier  will  live  as  the  author  of  la  Cicree 
and  ridole.  Of  Pianto,  Alfred  de  Vigny  said : 
"  It  is  very  fine,  but  not  the  author." 

The  metre  of  les  lambes  has  been  borrowed  from 
Andre  Chenier,  and,  besides  the  metre,  also  some- 
thing of    its   structure  and   even   of   its  tone ;   but 


Romantic  Lyricism.  2 1 1 

Barbier  has  both  forced  the  original  note  and 
charged  its  style.  This  ingenious  artist,  naturally 
turned  towards  refinement  and  elegance  of  form  in 
the  expression  of  the  gentler  sentiments,  early  in 
his  career  suffered  an  access  of  heroic  fever,  or,  as 
has  been  expressed,  a  day  of  sublime  intoxication. 
To  portray  the  insolent  habitues  of  salons,  the  mob 
beating  the  walls  like  a  drunken  woman,  the  pale 
street-ruffian,  all  the  vices  and  infamies  seething  in 
the  eternal  caldron,  he  has  invented  a  crude  verse.  It 
is  a  language  "  stained  by  cynicism  of  manners," 
a  hyperbolical  style  urging  energy  even  to  brutality. 
With  her  impure  liquors  the  tavern  maid  poured  out 
for  him  a  fervent,  popular  eloquence,  which  spurts 
up  and  overflows  in  great  bubbles.  His  tirades  are 
animated  by  a  puissance  of  inspiration.  Vibrating 
with  passion,  cynical  words,  coarse  metaphors,  im- 
pudent rhymes,  harsh  declamations  are  driven  on 
in  a  noisy,  glittering  train  which  is  torn  asunder 
amidst  noise  and  smoke. 

Brizeux  was  a  cautious,  scrupulous  poet,  whose 
art  was  infinitely  painstaking,  refined  in  feeling, 
complicated,  and  over-finished.  He  bears  some 
resemblance  to  Alfred  de  Vigny,  but  is  wanting  in 
passion,  lyrical  range,  —  what  is  called  sweep  of 
wing. 

Brizeux's  poetry  is  literally  punctuated  with 
scruples.  He  produced  little,  but  all  he  wrote 
shows  a  restless,  arduous  elaboration.  By  repeated 
trials  he  aimed  at  that  perfection  of  form  which 
others  attain  at  the  first  effort.  He  chastises  him- 
self with  jealous  obstinacy.      Even  those  produc- 


2  12  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

tions  which  he  has  given  to  the  public  still  savor 
of  the  trade.  He  revises  details,  modifies  rhymes, 
effaces  words ;  he  polishes  and  files  away  without 
ceasing,  just  as  if  each  line  left  some  remorse  for 
his  exacting  artist's  conscience.  This  so  scholarly 
poet  aims  at  simplicity.  "  Learning,"  he  says,  "  is 
very  good  for  peoples,  as  for  individuals,  but  only 
when  they  have  followed  out  the  whole  circle  and 
returned  perfected  to  the  starting-point."  His  pro- 
found, refined  erudition  would  return  to  the  primi- 
tive ;  he  is  simple  with  effort,  natural  with  artfulness ; 
he  employs  all  the  artifices  of  a  subtle,  laborious 
art  in  feigning  naivete. 

No  writer  has  given  more  attention  to  the  unity 
and  logical  sequence  of  his  work.  He  has  been  the 
poet  of  Brittany.  "  I  first  traced  a  slight  sketch  of 
this  country  in  Marie',''  he  says ;  "  later,  a  more 
extended  picture  in  the  rustic  epopee,  les  Bretons, 
which  finds  its  complement  in  les  Histoires  poe- 
tiques''  Les  Ternaires  was  the  bond  of  union 
between  this  and  his  later  style.  When  he  exiled 
himself  from  Brittany,  it  was  "  to  return  soon,  much 
better  informed,"  and  after  having  plucked  from 
Italian  soil  that  golden  blossom  which  symbolizes 
art.  We  find  both  Breton  rusticity  and  Florentine 
subtlety  in  Brizeux. 

The  first  of  all  his  works  is  most  to  be  admired 
for  its  greater  spontaneity.  The  style  of  les  Ter- 
naires is  too  heavy  and  laborious.  There  are,  here 
and  there,  scenes  and  narratives  in  les  Bretons  and 
les  Histoires poetiques,  in  which  the  poet  has  devel- 
oped  a  fuller,  freer  vein ;   but  most  of  these  selec- 


Romantic  Lyricism.  213 

tions  fall  short  through  coldness,  barrenness,  and 
a  painful,  fruitless  constraint.  Brizeux  is  less  in- 
genious in  tormenting  himself  in  Marie,  in  which 
art  and  nature,  taste  for  reality  and  love  of  the 
ideal,  are  united  in  an  exquisite  degree.  We,  after 
him,  may  also  say  that  he  has  found  "  a  style  of 
poetry  almost  unknown  to  our  literature."  Born 
of  a  race  whose  customs  still  preserve  the  original 
distinction  of  primitive  peoples,  he  has  known  how 
to  be  true  without  ceasing  to  be  a  poet.  He  has 
portrayed  the  manners  of  his  country  in  all  their 
frank  truth  and  native  charm.  Here  he  is  a  Bre- 
ton without  bias  and  without  effort,  following  the 
natural  bent  of  his  inspiration.  The  scenes  of  his 
elegies  are  laid  among  the  rocks  and  heaths  of  the 
Armorique,  at  once  both  wild  and  charming. 
Their  muse  is  a  young  peasant,  Marie,  a  creature 
of  native  refinement  and  rustic  grace,  who  formerly 
awakened  the  first  sentiment  of  his  dreamy  child- 
hood, and  whose  idealized  memory  inspired  verses 
of  an  infinitely  tender  melancholy.  To  the  golden 
flowers  the  poet  gathered  abroad,  we  prefer  those  of 
the  heath ;  and  among  these,  those  from  which 
he  has  woven  a  crown  for  Marie's  dark  brow  exhale 
the  purest,  sweetest  perfumes. 


214  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    ROMANTIC    DRAMA. 

ROMANTICISM  first  had  its  lyrical  poetry, 
which  was  the  natural  expansion  of  deeply 
aroused  sensibility  bursting  beyond  the  bounds  of 
all  doctrines ;  its  dramatic  poetry,  on  the  contrary, 
was  the  application  of  long  elaborated  ideas  and  the- 
ories, in  open  and  deliberate  antagonism  with  those 
by  which  Classic  tragedy  had  been  governed.  The 
words  Classicism  and  Romanticism  took  their  most 
precise  meaning  from  the  theatre,  in  reality  the 
true  battle-ground  of  these  two  schools.  The  inno- 
vators clearly  perceived  that  they  must  become 
masters  of  the  stage  in  order  to  win  their  cause. 
Here  they  were  confronted  by  two  of  the  greatest 
names  in  our  literature,  and  a  dramatic  system  per- 
fect of  its  kind  and  in  touch  both  with  the  society 
in  which  it  had  been  formed  and  with  the  peculiar 
temperament  of  our  race  as  fashioned  by  centuries 
of  Classic  culture.  All  the  militant  activity  of  the 
young  school  turned  to  the  drama  for  the  final  field 
of  victory. 

Since  Romanticism,  at  bottom  but  "  liberalism  " 
in  art,  aimed  to  substitute  a  "  popular  "'  for  a  "  court " 
literature,  it  was  obviously  necessary  to  address  the 


The  Ro'}nantic  Drama.  215 

people ;  therefore  a  new  theatre  must  be  created. 
The  people  had  formerly  been  but  a  "  thick  wall 
upon  which  art  had  only  painted  a  fresco ; "  now 
was  the  time  to  "  move  the  multitudes  and  arouse 
them  to  their  very  depths."  Only  the  drama  could 
give  a  truly  national  character  to  the  Romantic 
movement. 

While  some  of  the  contemporary  poets  were  pure 
elegiacs,  there  were  others  who  seemed  to  consider 
lyrical  poetry  only  as  a  sort  of  "  prelude."  Victor 
Hugo,  who  assumed  the  direction  of  Romanticism 
from  its  inception,  early  deemed  the  drama  its  in- 
evitable and  definitive  culmination.  In  his  mani- 
festo published  in  1827,  and  adopted  by  the  new 
school,  the  author  of  Cromwell  summons  poetry  to 
the  rebuilding  of  the  theatre.  According  to  his 
thinking,  humanity  has  passed  the  age  of  lyricism 
and  epopees ;  the  present  is  the  age  of  the  drama, 
and  art,  without  renouncing  its  other  forms,  must 
eventually  become  more  and  more  absorbed  in  it. 
The  ode  and  the  epopee  contain  the  germ  of  the 
theatre,  but,  when  developed,  it  includes  both  alike ; 
for  our  contemporary  civilization  it  is  "  poetry 
complete." 

The  great  importance,  indeed  the  necessity,  of  a 
dramatic  renaissance  had  long  been  felt.  It  has 
been  shown  how  jealous  were  the  susceptibilities 
with  which  the  innovators  first  came  in  contact. 
However,  the  public  slowly  passed  through  its  ap- 
prenticeship, maintaining  its  respect  for  traditions 
not  without  some  effort.  "  The  principal  indica- 
tion of  the  movement  that  was  preparing,"  wrote 


2i6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

M.  de  Remusat  in  1820,  "is  the  spectator's  disgust 
for  works  conceived  and  executed  according  to 
rules.  It  seems  as  if  every  means  of  arousing  him 
had  lost  its  effect.  In  vain  do  we  seek  to  renew 
old  forms  by  disguising  them ;  he  soon  recognizes 
and  grows  weary  of  them."  After  having  been 
immortalized  by  its  many  masterpieces,  the 
tragedy  of  the  seventeenth  century  had  become 
exhausted.  Created  for  an  aristocratic,  monarchi- 
cal society  of  beaux  esprit s  and  courtiers,  it  was 
totally  unfitted  for  the  new  social  conditions. 
Certain  poets  attempted  to  effect  its  revival ;  but  it 
was  no  longer  a  question  of  concession  to  the  spirit 
of  reform :  a  complete  revolution  was  imperative. 
This  would  replace  conventional  formulas  by  an 
entirely  new  order  founded  upon  truth  and  nature. 
*'  There  are  neither  rules  nor  models,"  proclaimed 
Victor  Hugo,  "or,  rather,  there  are  no  other  rules 
than  the  general  laws  that  embrace  all  art,  and  the 
special  laws  which  in  each  composition  result  from 
the  conditions  proper  to  each  subject." 

Moreover,  the  new  theatre  was  in  process  of 
growth  from  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
After  Diderot  and  Mercier,  Madame  de  Stael  as- 
sailed everything  that  tended  to  make  our  tragedy 
artificial  in  respect  to  form.  At  the  same  time 
Manzoni  was  writing  his  letter  upon  the  dramatic 
unities.  A  little  later  Stendhal,  in  a  series  of  pam- 
phlets, collected  and  published  under  the  title  of 
Racine  et  Shakespeare,  was  skirmishing  like  a  sharp- 
shooter before  the  old  theatre.  The  journal,  the 
Globe,  then  gave  the   reformers  the  support  of  its 


The  Romantic  Drama.  217 

keen,  weighty  criticism.  The  new  theatre  pos- 
sessed a  code  of  poetics  before  any  attempt  what- 
ever was  produced  on  the  stage.  Victor  Hugo 
had  given  a  brilliant  exposition  of  them  in 
his  famous  preface ;  shortly  after  this  Alfred  de 
Vigny  resumed  the  subject  in  his  introduction  to 
Othello.  These  two  manifestoes  contained  a  com- 
plete theory  of  the  Romantic  drama. 

The  seventeenth  century  conscientiously  sepa- 
rated comedy  and  tragedy.  It  sacrificed  reality  to 
that  ideal  of  noble  harmony  which  governs  all 
Classical  productions.  The  public  of  those  times 
demanded  unity  of  both  interest  and  impression. 
In  tragedy  everything  was  required  to  be  grave, 
stately,  sublime.  Vices,  the  ugly,  and  the  ridicu- 
lous were  banished  from  it.  Crime  was  only  ad- 
mitted when  presented  with  imposing  grandeur. 
In  the  theatre  life  was  divided  into  two  distinct 
parts,  one  of  which  was  ascribed  to  Melpomene,  the 
other  to  Thalia.  Tragi-comedy  is  by  no  means  a 
mingling  of  two  elements ;  it  is  but  a  tragedy  with 
a  happy  ending.  Moreover,  Corneille  never  wrote 
them,  and  Racine  has  but  one  upon  his  conscience. 
Tragic  heroes  never  laugh  ;  they  do  not  even  smile ; 
indeed,  they  are  only  presented  under  circumstances 
in  which  their  nobility  is  beyond  cavil.  It  is  rash 
of  Racine  to  have  hidden  Nero  behind  a  curtain, 
although  it  conceals  him  from  the  public  no  less 
than  from  Britannicus. 

The  separation  of  the  comic  and  the  tragic  is 
conventional ;  and,  although  perfectly  adapted  to 
social  environment  during  our  Classical  epoch,  it  is 


2i8  Literary  Movement  ui  France. 

no  longer  in  harmony  with  the  democratic  society 
substituted  by  the  Revolution  for  the  ancient 
regime.  Less  polished  and  refined,  and  more  in 
touch  with  the  tumult  of  life,  this  society  was 
destined  to  give  birth  to  a  theatre  which  would 
grasp  reality  closer,  express  it  more  fully  and  viv- 
idly, mingle  the  ugly  with  the  beautiful  and  the  amus- 
ing with  the  serious,  just  as  they  are  associated  in 
life.  It  is  precisely  this  fusion  of  the  comic  with 
the  tragic  that  brought  about  the  Romantic  drama. 
Reality  is  the  distinctive  feature  of  the  drama,  and, 
according  to  the  reformers  of  1830,  the  real  is  but 
the  natural  combination  of  the  two  types,  the  sub- 
lime and  the  grotesque.  These  should  be  interwoven 
in  the  theatre  just  as  in  human  existence,  which 
the  theatre  proposes  to  reproduce  faithfully.  The 
author  of  /^<?r;^^;22  demands"  those  who  are  shocked 
by  his  work  "  to  re-read  Moliere  and  Corneille  :  to 
supplement  each  of  "  these  two  great  and  most 
admirable  poets "  by  the  other  is  the  chief  aim 
of  the  Romantic  drama. 

When  considered  apart,  the  grotesque  and  the 
sublime  leave  reality  between  them,  and  both  en- 
gender abstractions,  —  on  the  one  side,  "abstrac- 
tions of  vices  and  idiosyncrasies ; "  on  the  other, 
"  abstractions  of  crimes  and  virtues."  Classic  heroes 
do  not  live  complete  lives.  They  only  embody  what 
is  necessary  to  show  us  their  souls.  They  ignore  all 
material  necessities,  all  physical  pain  and  fatigue. 
When  Mithridates  receives  a  mortal  wound,  he  is 
brought  on  the  stage  to  breathe  out  his  last  sigh  in 
a    tirade    of    one    hundred    and    fifty   lines.     Even 


The  Romantic  Drama.  219 

moral  individuality  is  reduced  to  its  simplest  ex- 
pression. Whether  in  comedy  or  in  tragedy,  the 
Classic  character  never  allows  those  special  traits 
that  mark  individuality  to  appear;  he  shows  us 
only  general  features  in  keeping  with  the  unique 
impression  which  the  poet  desires  to  produce. 

Our  Romantic  reformers  believed  that  there  was 
still  something  to  be  accomplished  after  the  com- 
edies and  tragedies  of  the  seventeenth  century, — 
that  is,  the   drama;   they  believed   that   there    was 
still    something   to    be    represented    after   abstrac- 
tions of  vices  and  virtues,  —  that  is,  man.     Dramatic 
Romanticism  is,  before  all  else,  the  substitution  of 
the  concrete  for  the  abstract,  the  particular  for  the  I 
general.     The  fusion  of  the  comic  and  the  tragic  was  l 
in  itself  a  departure  from  Classic  abstraction  ;  by   ' 
blending  them  in  the  drama,  the  reformers  of  the 
theatre  but  obeyed  a  need  for  the  real,  living  truth,   f 
This  impulse,  which  modified  the  entire  formula  of 
dramatic  art,  is  first  evident  in  the  conception   of 
their  characters. 

The  Romanticists  no  longer  sought  to  place  types 
but  individuals  before  the  public.  The  theatre  of 
the  seventeenth  century  represented  ambition,  ava- 
rice ;  they  wish  to  show  us  an  ambitious,  an  avari- 
cious man.  They  will  begin  by  giving  him  a  body: 
ambition  and  avarice  are  incorporeal,  and  the  ambi- 
tious or  avaricious  man  stands  in  need  of  a  body. 
Then  he  is  endowed  with  a  certain  age,  physiog- 
nomy, and  temperament.  Indeed,  they  will  bestow  as 
much  care  upon  individualizing  his  exterior  feat- 
ures as  the  Classicists  devoted  to  eliminating  those 


2  20  Literary  Movement  in  Fra7ice. 

features,  irreconcilable  with  the  constant,  universal, 
abstractly  human  truth  which  was  the  aim  and 
triumph  of  their  art.  They  will  not  portray  a  pas- 
sion, but  a  man  under  the  influence  of  that  passion. 
They  will  not  confine  themselves  to  presenting  the 
essential,  permanent  qualities  of  that  passion,  ma- 
terializing them  as  little  as  possible ;  they  will  not 
study  passion  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of  anonymous  force, 
but  this  or  that  individual  whose  character  is  modi- 
fied by  it.  This  complete  individual  they  will  then 
represent  in  his  complex  and  manifold  reality. 
While  Classic  art  restricts  nature,  theirs  will  aim  to 
render  nature  by  confounding  itself  with  it. 

Tragical  dramatis  per sonce  live  in  an  ideal  world. 
As  they  are  of  no  particular  time  or  country,  the 
poet  can  assign  nothing  definite  or  positive  to 
their  surroundings.  Tragedy  represents  neither 
Greek  nor  Roman  characters  ;  they  are  logical  en- 
tities with  no  date  in  time  and  no  place  in  space. 
The  more  neutral  the  background,  the  better  does 
it  conform  to  the  purely  abstract  character  of 
tragedy.  Indeed,  what  matters  the  time  or  place  in 
which  action  occurs,  if  heroes  are  but  pure  spirits 
upon  whom  neither  exerts  the  slightest  influence } 

In  substituting  men  of  concrete,  individual  lives 
for  the  ideal  figures  of  tragic  art,  Romanticism  was 
forced  to  determine  their  physiognomy  by  a  host  of 
local,  casual  details.  In  the  name  of  universal  truth 
the  Classicists  rejected  the  coloring  of  time  and 
place ;  and  this  is  precisely  what  the  Romanticists 
seek  under  the  name  of  particular  reality.  "  We 
are    just    beginning    to    understand,"   says    Victor 


The  Romantic  Drama.  221 

Hugo,  in  his  preface  to  Cromwell,  "  that  the  exact 
reproduction  of  locality  is  one  of  the  first  elements 
of  Realism."  Does  this  mean  that  our  poets  of  the 
seventeenth  century  did  not  comprehend  it  ?  It 
was  exactly  from  repugnance  for  the  "  real  "  that 
they  paid  so  little  attention  to  local  color.  With 
the  Romanticists  history  takes  possession  of  the 
theatre.  The  tragic  poets  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury had  been  moralists  ;  those  of  the  nineteenth 
century  became  historians.  The  first  observed  all 
that  is  human  only  in  a  general  sense ;  the  second 
aim  to  vary  moral  with  historical  truth.  If  the 
basis  of  our  nature  never  alters,  the  drama  should 
not  only  represent  this  permanent  basis,  but  all  the 
differences  of  race,  age,  and  milieu  also  belong  to 
its  sphere.  In  fact,  after  these  differences  have 
modified  individuals,  they  must  be  interpreted  by 
particular  details  of  manners,  language,  costume, 
domestic  life,  —  by  that  exact  mise  en  scene  which 
imparts  the  quality  of  precise  reality  to  the  drama. 

For  our  Classic  poets  the  theatre  was  not  a 
picture  of  real  life ;  to  them  a  dramatic  work  rep- 
resented a  learned  composition,  whose  art  con- 
sisted in  rectifying  and  disciplining  nature,  in 
selecting  and  disposing  the  data  it  offers  according 
to  the  laws  of  reason.  The  rules  of  the  unities 
categorically  expressed  this  fundamental  concep- 
tion. They  were  limits  which  art  prescribed  for 
nature ;  and  their  aim  and  effect  was  to  prevent 
the  subject  from  being  dispersed  through  time  and 
space.  Our  Classic  theatre  is,  in  great  part,  in- 
debted to  these  rules  for  that  remarkable  concen- 


22  2  Litej'ary  Movement  hi  France. 

tration  and  moderation  which  is  its  distinctive 
characteristic.  Though  very  often  defended  by 
doubtful  reasons,  the  unities  of  time  and  place 
possessed  a  real  virtue  in  assuring  unity  of 
action. 

They  were  abolished  by  Romanticism  because 
they  seemed  to  be  the  application  of  a  tyrannical 
art.  As,  in  the  conception  of  characters,  it  care- 
fully notes  all  those  individual  details  eliminated 
by  the  tragedy  of  the  seventeenth  century,  so,  in 
the  development  of  action,  is  it  less  concerned  in 
pruning  all  that  is  naturally  complex  and  irregular 
than  in  avoiding  what  might  make  the  drama 
appear  a  complicated  structure.  According  to  the 
old  system,  every  tragedy  was  the  conclusion  of 
an  already  ripened  action  bound  but  by  a  single 
thread,  and  the  poet's  skill  consisted  in  preparing 
us  for  this  consummation  by  an  ingeniously  im- 
agined series  of  events.  Its  opening  preceding  its 
close  only  by  a  few  hours,  and  all  its  actors  being 
reunited  where  all  interests  are  likewise  con- 
centrated, in  its  entire  scope  tragedy  necessarily 
embraces  but  a  sort  of  supreme  crisis.  Its  char- 
acters remain  as  they  appeared  in  the  first  act. 
In  his  action  the  poet  did  not  aim  to  develop,  but 
to  depict  characters.  It  was  not  his  purpose  to 
detach  a  portion  of  human  life  for  the  public  bene- 
fit, but  to  combine  a  work  of  art  and  reason. 

Upon  this  point,  as  upon  all  others,  the  Roman- 
ticists decided  in  favor  of  truth.  "  In  the  future," 
said  Alfred  de  Vigny,  "  the  dramatic  poet  will  hold 
many   periods  of    time  in    his  hand,    and    through 


The  Romatiiic  Drama.  223 

these  he  will  cause  entire  existences  to  pass.  .  .  , 
He  will  allow  his  creations  to  live  their  own 
lives,  only  sowing  in  their  hearts  the  germs  of  pas- 
sion whence  arise  great  events.  When  the  time 
comes,  and  only  then,  will  he,  without  hastening 
his  finger,  show  us  destiny  enveloping  its  victim. 
...  In  every  respect  art  will  resemble  life." 
These  few  words  sum  up  the  poetics  of  the  drama. 
It  preserves  neither  unity  of  time  nor  of  place. 
But  the  innovators  did  not  infringe  upon  unity  of 
action,  since  this  is  the  universal  law  of  every  work 
of  art;  they  only  relaxed  its  severity  by  interpret- 
ing it  more  broadly  and  changing  its  name  to  unity 
of  interest  or  ensemble,  in  accordance  with  more 
liberal  views. 

If  Classic  tragedy  substituted  declamation  for 
action,  it  was  because  the  refined  public  which  it 
addressed  did  not  so  much  care  for  spectacles  as 
for  keen  analyses  of  the  human  heart,  —  an  inevi- 
table consequence  of  the  unities.  As  tragedy  lasted 
but  twenty-four  hours,  it  seemed  expedient  to  re- 
count all  previous  incidents  necessary  to  the  under- 
standing of  the  action  ;  and  since  the  scene  could  not 
be  changed,  the  greater  part  of  the  action  took 
place  behind  the  curtain,  and  was  consequently 
exposed  by  narrative.  In  Britannicns,  for  example, 
Shakespeare  would  have  shown  us  Nero  offering 
his  brother  the  cup  of  poison,  Narcissus  mangled 
by  the  people,  Junia  casting  herself  at  the  foot  of 
the  statue  of  Augustus.  But  Classic  rules  for- 
bade Racine  from  changing  the  scene  of  action  to 
the  public  square,  or  even  to  another  room  in  the 


2  24  Lite7'ary  Movement  in  France. 

palace.  As  Victor  Hugo  says,  the  tragedy  of  the 
seventeenth  century  very  often  permitted  us  to  see 
the  elbows  of  action  while  its  hands  remained 
concealed.  Released  from  the  unities  of  time  and 
place,  the  Romanticists  were  henceforth  free  to 
represent  dramas  more  lifelike  and  picturesque 
as  well  as  more  in  conformity  with  reality. 

Tragedy  excluded  all  the  elements  not  indis- 
pensable to  moral  truth,  indeed  the  only  truth  at 
which  it  aimed.  It  gave  place  to  nothing  for- 
tuitous. With  the  exception  of  a  few  shadowy 
supernumeraries,  whose  only  duty  was  to  give 
heroes  their  cues,  it  introduced  no  other  person- 
ages than  protagonists.  The  only  actions  per- 
mitted were  those  that  helped  to  weave  the  plot. 
It  everywhere  aimed  to  simplify  nature.  It  sup- 
pressed chance  and  corrected  deviations.  Its 
agents  and  materials  were  reduced  as  far  as  pos- 
sible. In  fact,  it  consisted  in  a  problem  of  me- 
chanics. Racine  considered  a  work  half  finished 
when  its  plot  had  been  outlined.  Now,  outlining 
a  plot  comprised  finding  a  simple  arrangement  to 
economize  actions  and  characters  by  substituting 
the  wise  discrimination  of  art  for  the  daring  prodi- 
gality of  nature. 

From  the  first  the  Romanticists  rose  against 
those  "  tragedies  in  which  one  or  two  figures  stalked 
solemnly  about  a  stage  without  background  and 
scantily  peopled  by  a  few  confidants  charged  with 
filling  up  the  breaks  in  a  uniform,  monochord 
action."  Alfred  de  Vigny  demanded  that  the 
drama  should  involve  a  "  vortex  of  actions."     Victor 


The  Romantic  Drama.  225 

Hugo  remarked  :  "  Instead  of  the  single  individual 
that  satisfied  the  old  school,  we  shall  have  twenty, 
forty,  fifty,  as  many  as  we  wish,  and  of  every  variety 
and  importance.  The  drama  will  be  a  con- 
course of  people."  It  no  longer  applied  itself  to 
representing  the  elementary  forms  of  human  life  in 
primitive  peoples,  or  pure  intellects  and  moral 
entities  moving  about  in  an  atmosphere  of  ab- 
straction. The  new  drama  proposes  to  place  histor- 
ical life  upon  the  stage.  History,  beyond  legendary 
antiquity,  where  the  Classic  poets  had  sought  the 
greater  number  of  their  subjects,  is  peopled  with 
strange,  complex  figures,  too  individually  character- 
istic to  be  confined  to  the  narrow  limits  of  tragedy. 
Victor  Hugo  appears  with  Cromwell,  whose  every 
act  comprehends  more  than  one  of  Racine's  whole 
tragedies.  The  poet  demands  an  entire  evening 
"  to  unfold  rather  amply  the  character  of  a  chosen 
man  or  a  critical  epoch  :  "  this  is  because  he  wishes 
to  present  the  man  in  all  the  contrasts  of  his  nature, 
because  he  seeks  to  express  the  details  of  an  epoch 
with  all  its  many-sided  aspects  rather  than  its  gen- 
eral features.  A  roomy  stage,  a  "  throng"  of  char- 
acters, "multiform  "  action,  seemed  to  the  reformers 
of  1830  as  indispensable  to  the  drama  by  which 
they  wished  to  supplant  tragedy.  It  is  designed  to 
represent  a  picture  of  human  life  instead  of  to  in- 
corporate the  conventions  of  an  art  too  exclusive 
and  idealistic  ever  to  be  in  accord  with  nature. 

Classic  style  corresponds  to  the  theories  in  virtue 
of  which  tragedy  rendered  the  constant,  impersonal 
elements  of  humanity.     It  is  abstract,  general,  psy- 


2  26  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

chological,    possessing    a    nobility    that    does    not 
redeem  its  lack  of  color,  relief,  and  what  might  be 
called  sensible  reality.     Romanticism  required  the 
entire  vocabulary  to  express  life.     Since  the  drama 
does   not  present  pure  intellects  solely  occupied  in 
analyzing    themselves,   but    real    people    cast  body 
and  soul  into  the  world's  turmoil,  there  is  now  no 
place  for  the  scruples  of  tragedy.     On  entering  the 
drama,  history,  human  existence,  and  material  nature 
bring  with  them  an  army  of  new  expressions  which 
would  have  been  blasphemy  on  the  lips  of  Classic 
heroes.      "  Luther  said,"  wrote  Victor    Hugo,  "  '  I 
overturn   the  world  in  drinking  my  mug  of  beer.' 
Cromwell  said,  '  I   have  the  king  in  my  sack  and 
Parliament  in  my  pocket.'     Napoleon  said,  '  Let  us 
wash  our  soiled  linen  at  home.'     Here  is  advice  to 
makers  of  tragedies  who  do  not  comprehend  great 
things  without  great  words."     The  Romantic  drama 
demands   a  style  adaptable  to  all  tones,  situations, 
and  characters,  a  style  admitting  the  whole  poetic 
scale,  "  running  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  key, 
from  the  noblest  to  the  most  vulgar  of  ideas,  from 
the  most  absurd  to  the  gravest,  from  the  most  ex- 
ternal to  the  most  abstract."     It  must  pass  without 
effort  from  the  recitative  proper  to  the  simplicity 
of    ordinary  existence,  to  the  song  of   "  passion  or 
misfortune  ;  "  it  must  be  by  turns  concise  or  diffuse 
according  to  the  speaker,  scholarly  or  ungrammat- 
ical,   lavish   or  grudging  of  embellishment,  aiming 
first    of   all   to  be  appropriate,  and,   when   circum- 
stances   demand   fine   language,  only  so  as   if   by 
chance  and  unconsciously." 


The  Romantic  Drama.  227 

Let  us  sum  up  the  characteristics  of  tragedy  as 
in  full  sympathy  with  the  Classic  spirit,  of  which 
it  is  the  most  perfect  and  significative  production. 
It  admits  of  but  three  or  four  characters  upon  a 
stage  with  a  colonnade  against  a  neutral  back- 
ground for  its  only  scenery.  Its  action  is  cramped 
into  twenty-four  hours,  and  its  heroes  never  open 
their  mouths  but  to  utter  long  tirades,  their  action 
taking  place  almost  entirely  behind  the  scenes. 
There  is  nothing  that  appeals  to  the  senses ;  they 
are  souls  freed  from  all  intercourse  with  the  body, 
pure  intellects,  human  only  in  what  relates  to  moral 
life,  their  passions  being  those  most  general  to 
mankind.  In  its  nobility  there  is  a  harmony  that 
suffers  no  discord.  Laughter  is  banished,  and 
crime  only  dares  present  itself  under  the  most  im- 
posing aspects.  It  is  a  system  of  abstraction 
artificially  suppressing  half  of  life,  a  system  of  ideal- 
ization reducing  humanity  to  its  constant,  typical 
characteristics. 

What  is  the  drama?  Let  us  proceed  to  define 
it  as  conceived  by  its  creators.  It  is  a  broad  pic- 
ture of  life  in  place  of  the  condensed  picture  of  a 
catastrophe,  —  a  mingling  of  peaceful  with  tragic 
or  comic  scenes.  Belonging  to  tragedy  in  the 
rendering  of  passions  and  to  comedy  in  the  por- 
trayal of  characteristics,  it  is  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  because  its  passions  are  individual  and  not 
general,  and  its  characters  real  men  instead  of 
types.  With  it  the  theatre  becomes  a  little  corner 
of  the  real  world,  having  a  truthful  local  coloring 
in  close  accord  with  people  of  flesh  and  blood.     It 


2  28  Litera7'y  Movement  iii  Frajice. 

associates  in  the  same  work  all  the  elements  offered 
by  realit}'.  It  multiplies  actors,  enlarges  and  com- 
plicates the  sphere  of  action,  and  hastens  its  move- 
ment. It  permits  liberty  of  time  and  space  in 
order  to  develop  freely  its  subjects.  Despising 
Classic  conventions  and  artifices,  it  is  ready  to 
sacrifice  tirades  and  even  deny  itself  "  fine  lines." 
For  its  rule  and  purpose  it  has  the  imitation  of 
nature,  the  representation   of  life. 

Is  truth  in  art,  as  the  Romanticists  wished  to 
place  it  upon  the  stage,  then,  an  exact  copy  of 
"  the  thing  itself,"  just  as  those  whom  the  author 
of  Cromwell  calls  the  tardy  partisans  of  Romanti- 
cism assumed  in  1827  .?  Not  less  hostile  to  "  Real- 
ism "  than  to  Classicism,  Victor  Hugo  protests  from 
the  first  against  this  theory.  In  separating  him- 
self from  the  one,  he  assimilated  from  the  other, 
beyond  its  conventional  formulas,  certain  funda- 
mental principles  upon  which  the  Classic  theatre 
is  based,  and  which  correspond  both  to  the  condi- 
tions of  its  form  and  to  the  special  demands  of 
the  French  mind  and  its  traditions  of  national 
culture. 

From  the  Romantic  point  of  view  there  is  an 
"  insurmountable  barrier  which  separates  reality 
according  to  art  and  reality  according  to  nature." 
The  drama  is  a  mirror  reflecting  human  life,  —  not 
an  ordinary  mirror  always  throwing  back  a  feebler 
likeness,  but  one  that  collects,  concentrates,  and 
condenses  rays  of  color,  and  makes  light  from 
a  gleam  and  flame  from  light.     Those  very  words 


The  Romantic  Drama.  229 

freely  employed  by  the  new  school  to  designate 
the  two  elements  of  the  drama,  the  "grotesque  " 
and  the  "  sublime,"  indicate  what  is  characteristic 
of  their  conception.  The  grotesque  and  the  sub- 
lime are  two  types ;  but  mean,  commonplace  reality 
is  composed  of  neither  of  these.  In  the  Romantic 
drama  we  find  both  the  grotesque  and  the  sublime, 
but  not  that  characterless  truth  which  art,  and 
particularly  dramatic  art,  rejects.  Even  the  trivial 
"  should  have  accent."  The  Realists  make  a  drama 
of  the  commonplace;  whereas,  according  to  the 
Romanticists,  this  very  commonplace,  which  is  the 
defect  of  limited  minds,  would  result  in  "  killing  " 
the  drama. 

The  theatre  allows  no  place  either  for  the  poet's 
intervention  or  for  the  reflection  of  spectators. 
The  desired  effect  can  be  obtained  only  by  forcing 
features ;  hence  its  idealization.  But  the  best 
means  of  accentuating  certain  traits  is  to  efface 
others ;  hence  the  abstraction  which  completes 
idealization.  What  would  be  the  result  if  reality 
were  produced  on  the  stage  just  as  it  exists  ? 
There  are  more  insignificant  actions  in  life  than 
significant;  they  would  be  quite  overwhelmed  by 
them.  Accessory  personages  are  more  numerous 
than  those  to  whom  a  drama  is  attached ;  they 
would  pass  over  the  stage  only  to  distract  our 
attention.  In  respect  to  characteristics,  if  a  com- 
plete man  were  represented,  the  significant  would 
here  also  be  stifled  by  the  insignificant.  Without 
selecting  certain  acts  there  would  be  no  action; 
without  emphasizing  certain  features   there  would 


230  Liter a}'y  Movement  in  J'Va^tce. 

be  no  characteristic  figures.  The  poet  must  por- 
tray his  hero  and  complete  his  action  in  three 
hours.  He  must  suppress  idle  incidents,  super- 
fluous words,  condense  and  abridge  nature. 
Dramatic  works  are  not  found  ready  made ;  it  is 
the  purpose  of  art  to  construct  them.  Every  work 
of  art  should  possess  unity  or  be  without  signifi- 
cation;  it  must  have  a  beginning  and  an  ending. 
Real  life  brings  so  many  circumstances  and  differ- 
ent people  together  that  its  scenes  have  neither 
beginning  nor  ending.  Nature  makes  no  jumps  ; 
if  presented  as  it  is,  we  would  insensibly  pass  from 
one  person  and  one  circumstance  to  others  without 
finding  a  stopping-place.  A  drama  is  not  com- 
posed by  reproducing  what  is  disconnected  in 
human  life,  what  belies  our  previsions  and  discon- 
certs our  plans.  Above  and  beyond  material  truth 
exists  moral  truth.  It  is  the  logical  that  is  true 
upon  the  stage.  Side  by  side  with  nature  is  art, 
and  art  thrives  upon  ellipses  and  syntheses. 

Abstraction  and  idealization,  after  all,  remain 
the  fundamental  processes  of  theatrical  art  for  the 
Romanticists  as  well  as  for  the  Classicists.  Roman- 
ticism distinguishes  itself  from  Realism  by  main- 
taining these  two  great  stage  laws  in  opposition 
to  it.  Victor  Hugo  declares  that,  according  to  the 
optics  of  the  theatre,  every  figure  should  be  reduced 
to  its  most  evident  and  most  precise  features  ;  he 
opposes  art  to  nature,  —  that  "truthful,  salient  life 
which  is  the  peculiar  element  of  all  drama  to  a  flat, 
stupid,  charmless  reality." 

Not  when  it  concerns  principles,  but  conventions. 


The  Romantic  Drama.  231 

does  Romanticism  make  use  of  its  acquired  liber- 
ties with  a  very  significant  reserve. 

If  it  abolishes  unity  of  time,  it  is  not  to  place 
the  entire  life  of  man  upon  the  stage,  to  force  into 
the  same  setting  events  which  follow  each  other 
with  no  other  connection  than  accidental  succes- 
sion;  if  it  abolishes  unity  of  place,  it  is  not  to 
transport  the  spectator  elsewhere  with  each  scene, 
to  disguise  the  poet's  incapacity  to  compose  an 
action  adhering  in  all  its  parts.  He  knows  that 
if  characters  are  presented  at  too  long  intervals, 
the  thread  of  their  identity  will  be  broken,  for  too 
frequent  changes  of  scenery  are  likely  to  confuse 
and  fatigue  the  spectator  and  "produce  the  effect 
of  dazzling  him."  The  first  of  Victor  Hugo's 
dramas,  though  not  destined  for  the  stage,  and 
indisputably  the  most  "  Shakespearian "  of  all  his 
works,  rigorously  observes  unity  of  time,  and 
scarcely  transgresses  unity  of  place.  Moreover, 
the  poet  does  not  hesitate  to  assert  that  a  concen- 
trated subject  is  better  than  a  dispersed  subject  of 
equal  interest. 

The  Classicists  strictly  maintained  the  division 
of  styles  in  the  name  of  harmony,  to  which  they 
sacrificed  reality.  The  Romanticists  mingled  com- 
edy and  tragedy,  but  it  was  no  more  in  the  interest 
of  reality  than  for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  more 
complex  harmony.  One  of  the  most  important 
reasons  that  influenced  Victor  Hugo  in  favor  of 
what  he  calls  the  grotesque  is  the  fact  that  "  we 
must  have  repose  from  all  things,  even  from  the 
sublime ;  indeed,  the  sublime  upon  the  sublime  with 


232  Literary  Movement  iit  France. 

difficulty  produces  contrast."  According  to  him, 
"  true  poetry  lies  in  the  harmony  of  opposites." 

Thus,  in  spite  of  his  declarations,  the  poet  treats 
the  comic  and  the  tragic  as  elements  not  to  be  con- 
founded. In  his  dramas  there  is  a  juxtaposition, 
but  no  combination  of  these  two  elements.  For 
example,  each  act  of  Hernani,  as  in  Alfred  de 
Vigny's  Marechale  d' Ancre  and  Alexandre  Du- 
mas' Tourde  Nesle,  starts  out  as  a  comedy  and  ends 
as  a  tragedy.  The  "  grotesque "  appears  to  have 
no  part  in  the  real  foundation  of  the  work.  Indeed, 
the  tragic  has  but  to  make  its  appearance  to  cause 
the  disappearance  of  the  comic  element.  The  dis- 
tinction of  the  two  styles  is  not  altogether  con- 
ventional. Doubtless  the  tragic  and  the  comic 
constantly  mingle  under  our  eyes ;  do  we  only 
remark  the  amusing  incidents  that  may  cross  our 
ofrief  when  misfortune  strikes  us }  When  under 
the  influence  of  pleasure,  can  we  not  easily  dispel 
every  painful  memory  that  might  trouble  our 
enjoyment } 

"  Far  from  demolishing  art,"  wrote  Victor  Hugo, 
"  the  new  ideas  aim  to  reconstruct  it  on  a  firmer 
basis."  That  Romanticism  brought  about  a  revo- 
lution in  the  theatre  cannot  be  denied.  It  was, 
however,  not  so  much  directed  against  the  actual 
aesthetics  of  Classicism,  revived  with  new  force 
in  the  new  drama,  as  against  modish  conventions^ 
antiquated  costuming,  a  rhetoric  and  stage  setting 
inconsistent  with  the  new  society.  It  cast  aside 
all  narrow  and  formal  rules,  but  in  remaining  true 
to  the  general  spirit  that  dictated  them.     It  freed 


The  Romantic  Drama.  233 

the  stage  from  all  superannuated  restraints  in  order 
to  give  a  more  or  less  complete  and  expressive 
representation  of  life.  If  it  did  not  seek  to  attain 
its  dramatic  ideal  by  means  of  the  formulas  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  in  its  essential  features  it  was 
still  in  sympathy  with  that  upheld  by  our  national 
poets.  Logical  development,  economy  of  means, 
sobriety  of  action,  are  the  main  characteristics  of 
the  Romantic  drama  as  well  as  of  tragedy. 
Through  so  many  tumults  and  tempests  the  real 
basis  of   French  genius  had   remained   intact. 

The  entire  Romantic  theatre  can  be  summed  up 
in  three  poets,  Victor  Hugo,  Alfred  de  Vigny,  and 
Alexandre  Dumas. 

Victor  Hugo  unfolds  all  the  wealth  of  his  poetry 
on  the  stage.  To  vigor  of  passion,  vivacity  of  col- 
oring, grandeur  of  tirades,  may  be  added  force  of 
situation,  the  instinct  for  scenic  efifect,  a  rapid,  press- 
ing action,  a  skill  in  composition  always  maintain- 
ing his  work  within  its  lines,  and  binding  its  parts 
closely  together.  If  his  dramas  fall  below  his  ideal, 
in  spite  of  so  many  great  works  it  is,  in  great  part, 
due  to  the  peculiarly  lyrical  bias  of  his  genius.  He 
seems  always  to  have  in  view  certain  culminating 
points  which  he  hastens  to  ascend  in  order  there 
to  make  heard  those  vivid,  vibrating  couplets  in 
which  he  gives  full  swing  to  his  eloquence.  Victor 
Hugo's  dramas  lack  most  a  profound  and  complete 
analysis  of  the  characters  so  vigorously  presented. 
Though  there  are,  here  and  there,  admirable  psy- 
chological fragments,  the   poet   never  gives  us   an 


2  34  Literai'y  Movement  iii  F7'a7ice. 

entire  soul,  and  too  often  replaces  psychology  by  a 
superb  rhetoric  of  sentiment. 

Too  lyrical  in  this  sense,  he  is  so  also  in  that  he 
does  not  issue  from  himself ;  we  find  more  or  less 
of  the  author  in  all  his  creations.  Victor  Hugo's 
characters  "  live  by  his  breath  and  speak  with  his 
voice."  Sometimes  they  are  mere  creatures  of 
fancy.  Hernani,  Didier,  Ruy  Bias,  all  thoroughly 
"  Romantic  "  heroes,  do  not  represent  the  poet's  soul, 
but  his  imagination.  They  have  footing  neither  in 
history  nor  in  human  truth. 

In  addition  to  this  defect  there  is  also  another, 
not  less  incompatible  with  that  "  truth  "  which 
Romanticism  aims  to  restore.  We  have  only  to 
read  Victor  Hugo's  prefaces  to  learn  how  he  con- 
ceives the  subjects  and  characters  of  his  dramas. 
Not  living  men  and  real  events,  but  logical  formulas, 
first  present  themselves  to  him.  The  four  most 
important  characters  of  Ruy  Bias  "  represent  the 
main  facts  noted  by  the  philosophical  historian  con- 
cerning the  Spanish  monarchy  of  a  hundred  years 
ago."  That  paternal  love  may  transform  the  being 
most  degraded  by  physical  deformity,  is  the  idea 
that  produced  le  Roi  s'amuse.  That  maternal  love 
may  purify  moral  deformity,  is  the  inspiration  of 
Lucrece  Borgia.  The  original  conception  of  Aiigelo 
consists  in  bringing  together  a  woman  of  society 
and  one  without  its  pale,  in  order  to  guard  the 
one  from  despotism  and  the  other  from  contempt. 
Finally,  the  thought  that  the  poet  attempted  to 
realize  in  Marie  Tiidor  is  that  a  "  queen  may  be 
great  as  a  queen  and  true  as  a  woman."     This  ra- 


The  Romantic  D7^a7na.  235 

tional  conception  of  subjects  necessarily  leads  to 
abstraction.  All  the  activity  of  the  poet's  creations 
is  designed  to  realize  an  "  idea "  or  a  "  thought." 
It  is  not  the  development  of  characters,  it  is  the 
deduction  from  a  thesis.  Victor  Hugo  delights  in 
clashing  the  disparities  of  a  character,  and  in  this 
way  he  avoids  that  vice  of  Classic  tragedy  which 
reduces  an  individual  to  a  sentiment.  But  these 
very  disparities  form  an  artificial  whole  ;  by  making 
contrasts  so  violent  do  we  not  also  falsify  human 
nature  ? 

Victor  Hugo's  faults  are  counterbalanced  by  his 
profound  insight  into  history,  from  which  he  bor- 
rows features  of  local  reality,  just,  fresh  tints,  a 
vivid,  picturesque  setting  which  imparts  the  colors 
of  life  to  his  dramas.  In  this  he  is  also  aided  by 
his  art  of  combining  dramatic  incidents,  the  energy 
with  which  he  urges  on  his  characters,  his  thorough 
understanding  of  the  stage,  —  by  all  those  construc- 
tive qualities  comprehended  in  the  theatrical  gift. 
With  Alfred  de  Vigny  these  faults  are  much  more 
marked,  and  they  are  not  redeemed  by  the  same 
qualities. 

It  seems  as  though  the  timid,  prudent  author  of 
Eloa  should  never  have  risked  the  theatre.  How- 
ever, he  was  the  first  to  descend  into  this  arena. 
It  is  true,  the  drama  which  he  brought  out  before 
Hernani  was  but  a  translation.  Only  one  of  those 
that  followed  achieved  any  degree  of  success,  Chat- 
terton,  a  pathetic  work,  and  according  to  Saint- 
Beuve  but  the  analysis  of  a  "  literary  malady."     A 


236  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

broad  picture  of  man  could  not  be  expected  from 
him.  Vigny's  delicate  art  has  admirably  personified 
on  the  stage  the  type  of  poet  who  is  wounded  by 
the  meannesses  and  vulgarities  of  contemporary  en- 
vironment ;  but,  as  he  has  said,  "  Chattcrton  was 
but  a  man's  name,  the  poet  was  everything  for 
him."  And  we  may  add  that  this  poet  was  the 
author  of  the  drama. 

Alfred  de  Vigny  made  known  his  fundamental 
conception  of  the  theatre  at  the  beginning  of  his 
career.  "  If  art  is  a  fable,"  it  should  be  a  "philo- 
sophical fable."  He  has  given  a  rational  explanation 
of  all  his  works.  La  Marechale  d'^A^icre,  as  well  as 
Ckatterto7i,  was  developed  from  an  abstract  idea. 
"From  the  centre  of  the  circle  described  by  this 
composition,  a  keen  eye  can  perceive  that  Destiny 
against  which  we  are  ever  struggling,  but  which 
overcomes  us  as  soon  as  our  characters  become  en- 
feebled." According  to  the  poet,  even  the  little 
comedy,  Quiiie  pour  la  peur,  also  contains  "  a  very 
grave  question  beneath  its  light  form."  Alfred  de 
Vigny  declares  that  the  time  has  come  for  what  he 
calls  the  "  Drama  of  Thought,"  and  this  is  what  he 
wishes  to  substitute  for  the  drama  of  life  and  action. 

In  his  exhaustless  fecundity,  the  ardor  of  his 
temperament,  his  expansive  enthusiasm,  his  sensual 
love  of  life,  movement,  color,  and  everything  that 
moves  and  glitters,  Alexandre  Dumas  is  directly 
opposed  to  Alfred  de  Vigny.  In  1829  the  author  of 
Henri  III.  brought  dramatic  orifts  of  rare  vis^or  to 
the  stage.     No  contemporary  poet  was  his  equal  in 


The  Romantic  Drama.  237 

the  gift  for  effect,  fertility  of  resource,  skill  and  apt- 
ness in  stage  setting.  His  works  owe  their  excep- 
tional vogue  to  truly  dramatic  qualities,  though 
sustained  by  no  solid  foundation  of  learning.  Is  not 
the  theatre,  in  fact,  a  peculiarly  popular  form  of  art  ? 
His  marvellous  power  of  assimilation  has  sometimes 
succeeded  in  reviving  the  past ;  but  his  dramas  are 
too  often  historical  only  in  their  exterior  features,  in 
costume,  and  details  that  attract  the  eye.  Local 
color  can  only  be  found  upon  the  surface  of  his 
works.  He  openly  confesses  that  he  considers  his- 
tory but  a  "  hook  upon  which  to  hang  his  pictures." 
He  concerns  himself  much  less  with  human  truth 
than  with  picturesque  decoration  and  thrilling  catas- 
trophes. He  appeals  to  the  nerves  and  senses  of  his 
spectators.  He  only  shows  the  outside  of  man  and 
life.  His  theatre  is  a  fa9ade.  In  explaining  his 
popularity,  Alexandre  Dumas'  faults  and  virtues 
also  indicate  those  of  the  new  style  towards  which 
he,  little  by  little,  directed  Romanticism.  For  the 
Romantic  drama  as  conceived  by  Victor  Hugo,  he 
substituted  that  very  drama  which  the  leader  of 
Romanticism  predicted  and  attempted  to  overthrow 
in  his  preface  to  Cromwell.  It  is  a  drama  appealing 
solely  to  curiosity,  quite  exterior  and  material,  com- 
posed of  machinations  and  soon  destined  to  end  in 
melodrama. 

While  Alexandre  Dumas  was  turning  more  and 
more  towards  a  crude  triviality,  Victor  Hugo  con- 
tinued to  lift  ever  higher  that  ideal  which  his 
grandeur-loving  genius  from  the  outset  attempted 


238  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

to  realize  on  the  stage.  His  last  and  one  of  his 
finest  works,  les  Burgraves,  came  in  conflict  with 
public  taste  on  account  of  the  strange  and  inhuman 
elements  it  contained.  Theophile  Gautier  relates 
that  the  poet's  friends,  feeling  that  the  work  was  in 
danger,  besought  the  engraver  Celestin  Nanteuil 
to  recruit  for  the  first  presentation  three  hundred 
young  Spartans  determined  to  conquer  or  die. 
"  Go  and  say  to  your  master  that  youth  no  longer 
exists,"  responded  Nanteuil,  shaking  his  long  hair. 
"  These  memorable  words,"  says  Sainte-Beuve, 
"  make  a  date  marking  the  last  stage  of  the 
Romantic  movement;  all  means  had  been  forced, 
there  was  nothing  left  but  to  retrograde." 

Only  six  weeks  after  les  Btirgraves,  Ponsard,  until 
then  unknown,  had  his  Lucr'ece  brought  out.  This 
"  version  of  Titus  Livy,"  as  Victor  Hugo  styled  it, 
met  with  great  success  by  reason  of  its  contrast. 
Ponsard  at  once  found  himself  transformed  into  the 
leader  of  a  new  school  grafted  upon  the  old  Classic 
trunk.  This  school  was  baptized  the  school  of  good 
sense  after  one  of  the  poet's  unlucky  expressions. 

Did  tragedy,  then,  regain  possession  of  our  stage  ? 
Ponsard  was  certainly  Classical  in  inclination  and 
temperament,  as  his  first  work  had  plainly  showed. 
If  he  did  not  return  to  the  unities  of  time  and  place 
so  feebly  defended  by  Classicism,  he  at  least  reverted 
to  nudity  of  action,  simplicity  of  characters,  sobriety 
of  style,  to  those  austere,  symmetrical  forms  affected 
by  tragedy.  However,  even  in  L7icrece,  so  noisily 
opposed  to  their  adversaries  by  the  last  of  the 
Classicists,  there  are  many  evidences  of  Romanticism, 


The  Romantic  Drama,  239 

which,  as  Ponsard  himself  acknowledged,  "had  been 
the  object  of  his  first  cult."  But  Ponsard  vainly 
attempted  to  conciliate  tragedy  with  the  drama ;  and 
this  fruitless  attempt  suffices  to  explain  his  inferiority 
as  a  poet.  Although  in  movement  and  brilliancy 
so  often  at  fault,  his  conscientious  talent  lacks 
neither  force  nor  audacity  in  its  dryness  and  stiffness. 
He  gradually  made  advances  towards  the  innovators ; 
and  Charlotte  Corday,  the  best  of  this  pretended 
restorer  of  tragedy's  works,  in  spite  of  its  title,  is 
much  more  of  a  Romantic  drama  than  a  tragedy. 

The  drama  was  not  succeeded  by  Classic  tragedy, 
but  by  a  species  of  comedy  new  in  spirit  and  form, 
which,  after  the  irremediable  decadence  of  Roman- 
ticism, naturally  adapted  itself  to  the  Positive  and 
Realistic  tendencies  of  our  epoch.  Even  in  the 
period  of  its  greatest  success,  Romanticism  had  not 
abolished  the  comedy,  in  spite  of  its  pretence  to 
mingle  it  with  the  drama.  But  at  that  time  it  was 
little  more  than  an  amusement  without  import. 
It  can  be  entirely  included  in  the  name  of  Eugene 
Scribe.  For  thirty  years  and  with  inexhaustible 
fertility  Scribe  supplied  the  theatres  with  works 
devoid  of  style  and  observation,  and  in  which  he 
displayed  inimitable  skill  in  embroiling  and  un- 
ravelling the  threads  of  intrigues.  He  possessed 
the  genius  of  savoir-faire.  Solely  concerned  in  di- 
verting the  world,  he  continued  to  amuse  his  pub- 
lic until  coming  generations  no  longer  demanded 
marionettes  in  place  of  men,  and  the  artificial  glare 
of  footlights  for  the  full  light  of  real  life. 


240  Literary  Aloveme^il  in  Fratice. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

HISTORY. 

ROMANTICISM  brought  about  a  revolution  no 
less  profound  in  history  than  in  theatrical 
art.  That  the  renaissance  of  historical  studies  coin- 
cides with  the  advent  of  the  new  drama  should  by 
no  means  be  considered  pure  chance ;  for,  as  with 
the  drama,  it  is  by  freeing  itself  from  tedious  ab- 
straction, and  grasping  concrete  reality  in  all  the 
variety  of  its  color  and  movement,  that  history  is 
renewed. 

During  the  Classical  epoch  history  had  been 
purely  rational.  By  suppressing  individuality  and 
attenuating  characteristic  details,  historians  had 
levelled  the  most  diversely  significant  figures  of 
past  ages  to  a  stupid,  decorous  uniformity.  Mak- 
ing no  distinctions,  our  ancient  poems  represented 
Alexander  and  Charlemagne,  and  mediaeval  art  be- 
stowed lis  Jleur  de  lis  and  main  de  justice  upon  the 
kings  of  sacred  and  profane  antiquity  alike.  The 
Cartesian  rationalism  of  the  seventeenth  century 
further  strengthened  this  tendency  to  reduce  man 
to  his  least  individual  elements.  During  the  eight- 
eenth century  Montesquieu,  while  confining  himself 
to  speculative  analysis,  points  out  the  influences  of 


History.  24 1 

climate  and  religion.  But  he  is  a  critic  and  philoso- 
pher, not  the  historian,  who  restores  the  living  pic- 
ture of  ancient  ages.  In  fact,  the  eighteenth  is  no 
more  aware  than  the  preceding  centuries  of  the 
many  profound  variations  upon  life,  individually  and 
collectively,  introduced  by  influences  of  race,  time, 
and  place.  It  instinctively  colors  the  manners  and 
characters  of  the  past  with  those  of  actual  times. 
To  them  Sesostris  resembles  Louis  XIV.,  and  Solon 
is  not  very  unlike  Turgot  Father  Rapin  counsels 
historians  to  "seek  the  truth  in  the  depth  of 
hearts."  When  history  is  not  a  dry  science  of 
dates  and  facts,  it  becomes  the  art  of  an  eloquent, 
accomplished  moralist. 

Historical  truth  was,  moreover,  naturally  incom- 
patible with  despotism.  During  the  seventeenth 
century  Mezerai's  pension  was  reduced  for  having 
incautiously  referred  to  the  taxes,  nor  could  the 
king  pardon  him  for  having  characterized  Louis 
XIV.  as  a  tyrant.  The  Duke  de  Bourgogne  once 
asked  the  Abbe  Choisy  how  he  would  avoid  saying 
that  Charles  VI.  was  insane:  "  Monseigneur,  I  will 
simply  say  that  he  was  insane,"  responded  the  Abbe  ; 
and  he  loved  to  quote  this  reply  as  the  greatest  feat 
of  his  life.  During  the  eighteenth  century  the 
Abbe  de  Saint-Pierre  was  expelled  from  the  French 
Academy  and  Freret  placed  in  the  Bastile.  Indeed, 
how  could  historians  have  enjoyed  liberty }  Even 
tragic  poets  approached  history  with  fear  and 
trembling.  Crebillon,  who  had  begun  a  Cromwell 
in  which   he   boldly   pictured    the  aversion   of   the 

English  for  the  Stuarts,  was  prohibited  from  finish- 

16 


242  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

ing  his  dangerous  tragedy.  Monarchical  despotism 
was  succeeded  by  that  of  the  Jacobins,  which  was, 
in  turn,  followed  by  that  of  the  Empire.  There 
exists  an  imperious  note  written  by  Napoleon  the 
First,  in  which  he  outlines  the  course  of  those  to 
follow  after  Velly,  in  order  "  the  better  to  assure 
the  spirit  in  which  they  should  write."  Absolute 
monarchy  had  had  its  historiographers ;  it  could 
not  have  historians  without  political  liberty. 

After  the  fall  of  the  Empire,  the  revival  of  his- 
torical studies,  towards  which  dawning  Romanticism 
had  already  directed  contemporary  minds,  was 
favored  by  the  inauguration  of  a  liberal  regime. 
The  commotions  which  had  just  transformed  our 
social  conditions  also  further  assisted  in  this  renais- 
sance. The  "  unheard-of  events  of  the  last  fifty 
years  have  taught  us  to  understand  the  revolutions 
of  the  middle  ages,  and  perceive  the  spirit  underly- 
ing the  letter  of  the  chroniclers,"  said  the  author  of 
les  Recits  merovingiens.  And  elsewhere  :  "  There  is 
not  one  of  the  writers  of  the  nineteenth  century 
who  does  not  know  more  than  Velly,  Mably,  or  even 
Voltaire,  concerning  conquests  and  rebellions,  the 
dissolving  of  empires,  the  fall  and  restoration  of 
dynasties,  democratic  revolutions  and  reactions  in 
opposite  directions." 

Of  all  the  historians  who  have  rendered  our  cen- 
tury illustrious,  Augustin  Thierry  is  the  most  inti- 
mately associated  with  the  Romantic  movement. 
He  belongs  to  Romanticism  in  his  conception  of 
history,  in  his  taste  for  movement  and  the  descrip- 


History.  243 

tive,  in  his  cult  for  the  past,  and  even  in  his  rev- 
erent admiration  for  the  still  despised  Gothic 
monuments.  At  the  outset  he  attempted  to  ef- 
face all  he  had  learned  from  modern  books,  as  it 
were,  "  entering  into  open  rebellion  with  his  mas- 
ters." It  is  historical  Romanticism  rising  up  in  his 
person  against  the  conventional  formulas  and  uni- 
formly pompous  style  of  Classical  history.  The  two 
writers  who  exercised  the  greatest  influence  over 
him  were,  in  fact,  two  great  Romantic  writers, 
Chateaubriand  and  Walter  Scott.  He  has  pictured 
himself  reading  or  rather  devouring  the  pages  of 
les  Martyrs  in  the  old  vaulted  hall  of  the  College  of 
Blois,  where  he  was  then  completing  his  studies. 
He  first  experienced  a  vague  charm  which  capti- 
vated his  imagination ;  then,  penetrated  little  by 
little  by  the  archaeology  of  the  middle  ages,  he  be- 
comes more  deeply  moved  as  the  picture  of  the 
barbarian  army  is  spread  out  before  his  eyes,  —  an 
army  in  which  "  naught  could  be  distinguished  but 
a  forest  of  lances,  animal  skins,  and  bared  bodies." 
When  he  comes  to  the  war  song  of  the  Franks,  he 
leaves  his  place  to  march  from  one  end  to  the  other 
of  the  great  hall,  shouting,  "  Pharamond,  Phara- 
mond,  we  have  battled  with  the  sword."  After 
finding  in  Chateaubriand  his  first  initiator,  he  dis- 
covers in  Walter  Scott  a  guide  and  master.  "  My 
admiration  for  this  great  writer  was  profound,"  he 
has  himself  said ;  "  it  increased  as  I  compared  his 
marvellous  insight  into  the  past  with  the  arid, 
pedantic  erudition  of  the  most  celebrated  modern 
historians.     Indeed,  it  was  with  a  transport  of  en- 


244  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

thusiasm  that  I  greeted  the  appearance  of  that 
masterpiece,  Ivanhoc."  The  vivid  impression  pro- 
duced upon  him  by  those  two  great  works,  les  Mar- 
tyrs and  Ivanhoe,  is  evident  in  his  own  masterpieces, 
les  Recits  des  temps  merovingiens  and  la  Co7iquete 
d''  Angle  terre. 

What  the  Romanticists  did  for  poetry,  he  accom- 
plished in  the  domain  of  history.  In  1817,  desirous 
of  contributing  to  the  triumph  of  constitutional 
opinions,  he  set  to  work  to  seek  his  proofs  and 
arofuments  from  books.  He  soon  discovered  that 
history  pleased  him  in  itself  as  the  picture  of  past 
ages  and  aside  from  the  inductions  that  served  his 
present  purpose.  Between  181 7  and  1820  his  voca- 
tion was  determined  with  irresistible  decision.  To 
"  plant  for  France  the  standard  of  historical  reform  " 
was  henceforth  the  young  historian's  ambition. 
This  reform  was  directed  against  the  manner  of 
studying  and  writing  history ;  it  is  a  war  against 
writers  without  erudition  who  have  not  known  how 
to  observe,  a  war  against  writers  without  imagination 
who  have  not  known  how  to  reproduce  what  they 
see. 

In  his  Lettres  stir  I  'histoire  de  France  he  attempted 
to  indicate  the  import  of  this  renovation,  brought  to 
bear  upon  form  and  substance  at  the  same  time. 
By  returning  to  the  original  source  of  information, 
the  historian  will  discover  an  entirely  ingenuous 
truth,  the  candor  and  crudeness  of  which  has  not 
yet  been  polished  by  prejudices,  conventions,  and 
proprieties.  This  truth  he  found  not  only  in  ma- 
terial  dates    and    facts,  but  in  manners,  costumes, 


History.  245 

contemporary  passions,  and  in  all  that  imparts  to  it 
vivid  life.  He  wished  to  build  a  work  of  art  as  well 
as  a  work  of  science,  and  believed  that  he  could 
even  be  dramatical  with  the  aid  of  the  materials 
furnished  by  direct  study. 

Augustin  Thierry  was  the  first  to  put  into  prac- 
tice the  method  which  he  advised.  \v\  la  Conquete 
d' Angleterre  he  seeks  to  compose  a  sort  of  epopee 
in  which  everything  will  be  in  strict  harmony  with 
historical  truth.  To  the  epic  movement  of  Greek 
and  Roman  historians,  he  unites  both  the  naive 
color  of  legends  and  the  severe  reason  of  modern 
historical  composition.  His  style  is  serious  with- 
out oratorical  emphasis,  simple  without  archaeologi- 
cal affection.  In  his  own  language  he  describes 
the  men  of  the  past  framed  by  the  physiognomy 
of  their  own  times.  Almost  exhausting  original 
texts,  he  multiplies  details  without  marring  the 
unity  of  his  work.  He  employs  neither  the  phil- 
osophical form  of  the  eighteenth  nor  the  literary 
style  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  inserts 
neither  irrelevant  dissertations  to  portray  epochs, 
nor  detached  portraits  to  characterize  different 
individuals.  Both  epochs  and  men  enter  into  his 
recital.  In  the  first  place,  he  does  not  believe  that 
a  historian  can  narrate  without  picturing,  nor  pic- 
ture without  narrating.  He  pictures  while  narrat- 
ing the  facts  he  sets  before  us,  and  his  narrative 
is  itself  a  painting. 

In  les  Recits  merovingiens  he  has  attempted  to 
introduce  all  the  local  features  supplied  by  Gregory 
de   Tours.     Others  had  already  made  use  of   the 


246  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

substance ;  Augustin  Thierry  gave  special  attention 
to  his  form,  which  he  hoped  to  render  clearer  and 
more  vivid.  Les  Recits  merovingiens  are  a  series 
of  pictures.  The  mode  of  life  of  the  Prankish 
kings,  the  stormy  existence  of  their  lords  and 
bishops,  the  intrigues  of  the  Gallo-Romans,  and  the 
brutal  discipline  of  the  barbarians  fascinated  their 
author  when  he  selected  his  subject,  and  this  was 
what  he  sought  to  describe.  In  order  to  attain  this 
reality  of  expression  he  consulted  not  only  charters, 
chronicles,  and  state  papers,  but  also  legends.  In 
these  as  well  as  in  contemporary  poetry,  from  which 
he  unconsciously  draws  features  of  local  coloring, 
the  truth  of  pictures  is  not  discounted  by  alteration. 
Hence  comes  the  movement  and  charming  vivacity 
of  his  narratives.  Indeed,  to  this  method  is  also 
due  the  strong  relief  of  the  characters  revived  by 
the  art  of  the  painter  and  narrator,  supplemented 
by  profound  learning. 

Augustin  Thierry's  imagination  and  sensibility 
make  him  the  contemporary  of  his  forefathers.  He 
associates  himself  intimately  with  their  joys  and 
sorrows.  "  Every  time  events  and  characters  give 
me  a  little  of  their  life  and  color  I  experience  an 
involuntary  emotion,"  he  says.  He  has  no  knowl- 
edge of  what  goes  on  around  him  while  his  hand 
is  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  chroniclers.  He 
sees  only  the  apparitions  conjured  up  by  his  doc- 
uments. Allowing  his  mind  to  wander  at  will 
among  millions  of  facts  scattered  through  hundreds 
of  volumes,  he  is  like  the  traveller  before  whose 
eyes  finally  opens    the  long-sought  land  so  often 


History.  247 

present  in  his  dreams.  Heaped  before  him,  lie 
dust-covered  archives.  In  these  he  discovers 
national  history, — the  beating  hearts  of  peoples 
buried  for  many  centuries.  Here  we  find  Gallo- 
Roman  civilization  reacting  against  Prankish  bar- 
barism, with  all  their  contrasts  of  manners,  conflict 
of  races,  and  tumult  of  passions;  there  we  hear 
the  Britons  singing  to  the  harp  their  eternal  hope 
in  Arthur's  return.  Now  he  shows  us  the  Nor- 
mans measuring  the  earth  with  a  rope  in  order  to 
give  each  his  share,  or  counting  families  by  heads, 
like  cattle ;  now,  the  Saxons  gloomily  eying  the 
stranger  who  enters  beneath  their  roofs  to  become 
master  of  their  firesides,  or  seeking  refuge  in  the 
forest  to  live  like  wolves.  Augustin  Thierry  was  the 
first  to  introduce  this  higher  conception  of  history. 
All  his  sympathies  are  for  the  conquered  and  op- 
pressed; and  when  he  describes  conquests,  it  is 
the  vanquished  race  which  he  aims  to  resurrect. 
He  possesses  the  divining  power  of  sympathy,  intel- 
ligence of  soul,  the  capacity  of  being  moved  and 
imagining  passions  as  well  as  forms  and  colors. 
With  him  the  imagination  of  the  eyes  is  associated 
with  that  of  the  heart.  Others  have  displayed 
greater  powers  of  analysis,  but  the  initiative  origi- 
nated with  him.  Of  historical  composition  he  has 
made  a  work  of  art  and  science,  in  which  material 
accuracy  serves  to  attain  moral  truth.  This  he  has 
done  by  giving  circumstances  their  proper  signifi- 
cance, their  picturesque  character,  in  fine,  their  life, 
—  that  vivid,  dramatic  life  which  should  never  be 
absent  from  what  relates  to  humanity. 


24S  Liter ary  Movement  in  France. 

Barante  represents  the  narrative  method.  He 
seeks  only  to  relate  events  in  their  natural  succes- 
sion, concealing  his  own  personality  from  us.  His- 
tory, like  a  docile  sophist,  submits  to  all  modes  of 
demonstration ;  Barante  wishes  facts  to  speak  for 
themselves.  His  best  work  has  been  to  reproduce 
the  old  chronicles  in  all  their  naivete,  reducing 
them  to  order  and  clearness  and  rectifying  errors 
in  facts  and  dates.  From  our  annals  he  detaches 
one  of  the  epochs  most  fertile  in  events,  also  richest 
in  chroniclers.  For  his  subject  he  selects  the  rise 
and  fall  of  the  house  of  Bourgogne,  thus  giving  his 
narrative  a  unity  which  it  could  not  have  if  treated 
as  general  history.  He  attempts  to  rival  Walter 
Scott,  wishing  his  work  to  have  the  charm  of  a 
historical  romance  in  addition  to  the  interest  de- 
rived from  history.  He  has  been  censured  for  self- 
effacement,  a  too  scrupulous  impersonality  seeming 
to  exclude  all  moral  conclusions.  With  him  we 
can  say  that  when  the  historian  presents  facts 
clearly  and  disposes  them  in  their  natural  order, 
he  sugorests  to  his  reader  reflections  from  which  he 
may  prefer  to  abstain.  Barante  protests  that  he 
has  not  been  indifferent  to  the  '*  great  question 
that  absorbs  all  minds,"  that  of  power  and  liberty, 
or,  better  expressed,  tyranny  and  justice.  Although 
he  seems  to  have  no  other  purpose  than  to  expose 
facts,  no  dissertation  could  convey  a  clearer  idea 
than  his  narrative  of  the  necessity  for  more  justice 
and  less  oppression  in  France.  Perhaps  it  would 
not  be  wise  to  quote  further  examples  to  illustrate 
this  new  direction  which  he  has  given  to  history; 


History.  249 

but  we  may  conclude,  with  Sainte-Beuve,  that 
Barante  has  been  able  to  render  the  exception  both 
happy  and  interesting. 

While  the  descriptive  school  pictures  the  man- 
ners, passions,  distinctive  circumstances,  and  char- 
acteristic details  designed  to  illustrate  narration, 
the  philosophical  school  has  other  purposes.  It 
does  not  attempt  to  narrate ;  it  aims  to  discover 
the  laws  of  the  moral  world  to  which  historical 
events  relate.  They,  of  course,  begin  by  the  study 
of  facts ;  but  this  is  only  preparatory.  Their  real 
object  consists  in  grouping  and  arranging  these 
facts  according  to  human  reason,  and  in  construct- 
ing on  broad  lines  the  general  order  in  which  they 
have  occurred. 

Many  earlier  writers  had  sought  moral  and  po- 
litical lessons  from  events.  They,  however,  brought 
their  prejudices  to  history,  and  violated  documents 
in  order  to  accommodate  them  to  preconceived 
theses.  They  did  not  possess  that  impartial  breadth 
and  disinterestedness  without  which  there  is  no 
true  historian.  In  order  to  comprehend  the  spirit 
of  the  past,  they  lacked  the  very  soul  of  historical 
science,  —  sympathy  with  primitive  conditions. 
Voltaire  expresses  the  opinion  of  his  times  on  this 
subject,  when  he  says  that  the  history  of  the  early 
ages  of  the  modern  era  "  no  more  merit  being  writ- 
ten than  that  of  bears  and  wolves."  The  aversion 
of  the  Classicists  for  barbarous  times  and  every- 
thing not  in  touch  with  the  polished  refinement  of 
their  own  civilization  retarded  the  development  of 


250  Literary  Alovei^ieut  i?t  Frmice. 

historical  studies  until  the  dawn  of  our  century. 
To  be  fruitful,  this  renaissance  must  first  unravel 
the  story  of  our  origin.  Bolder  and  less  finical 
than  their  predecessors,  also  further  enlightened  by 
the  great  changes  just  witnessed,  our  historians  are 
discovering  the  traditions  of  those  confused  epochs 
so  far  thought  to  be  shrouded  in  impenetrable 
darkness  or  repellent  barbarism.  Thus  the  philo- 
sophical school  of  our  day  gives  us  a  new  con- 
ception of  history,  more  liberal  because  less  bound 
by  systems,  more  solid  because  based  upon  the 
profound  study  of  documents,  more  lucid  because 
ancient  revolutions  are  judged  by  the  light  of  recent 
experience. 

Guizot,  the  leader  of  this  school,  shares  with 
Augustin  Thierry  the  honor  of  having  renovated 
historical  studies.  One  is  a  painter  of  historical 
pictures ;  the  other  is  a  thinker  and  a  politician. 
Guizot  first  seeks  a  principle  to  guide  him  through 
the  immense  labyrinth  of  facts.  He  wishes  to  sift 
the  civilization  of  France  and  Europe  down  to  its 
constituent  elements,  the  progress  of  which  he  can 
follow  throughout  the  ages.  There  are  four  of 
these  elements,  —  the  Church,  royalty,  the  nobility, 
and  commonalty.  To  these  four  primitive  factors 
he  refers  all  the  infinite  varieties  of  historical 
phenomena.  They  account  for  everything.  From 
their  association  and  respective  conflicts  our  history 
is  derived.  Progress  consists  in  their  continuous, 
we  may  say  fatal,  evolution.  The  best  regime  is, 
therefore,  that  which  succeeds  in  preserving  their 
equilibrium. 


History.  251 

Guizot  views  history  from  the  pinnacle  of  his 
reason.  He  watches  unroll  before  him  that  har- 
monious order  in  which  irregularities  of  detail  and 
apparent  discords  disappear.  He  does  not  con- 
sider facts  in  themselves  in  their  transient  relations, 
but  as  the  expression  of  constant  laws  which  can 
alone  interpret  them.  He  relates  them  to  ideas, 
and  seizes  their  import  and  exact  systematical  re- 
lations. From  this  tangled  network  he  builds  a 
solid  tissue  of  deductions.  He  regulates  disorder, 
and  disciplines  the  wild  confusion  of  events  which 
eventually  follow  the  course  which  he  designs  for 
them.  Neither  chance,  the  unforeseen,  nor  man's 
caprice  alters  the  fundamental  lines  verified  by  the 
historian's  infallible  accuracy  and  profound  analysis. 

Guizot's  generalizations  are  founded  upon  an 
erudition  as  sure  as  it  is  extensive.  He  has,  more- 
over, sought  for  the  principles  that  lie  beyond 
rather  than  within  facts  themselves.  Therefore  his 
method  only  is  open  to  criticism.  Systematic  his- 
tory cannot  fail  to  be  false.  However  vast  the 
historian's  learning,  and  whatever  wisdom  he  dis- 
play in  referring  facts  to  laws,  all  rational  construc- 
tion is  predestined  to  attain  but  a  part  of  the  truth. 
General  phenomena  can  never  embrace  all  the 
special  phenomena  which  they  are  supposed  to  in- 
clude. If  history  is  a  science,  it  certainly  is  not 
that  of  geometry.  Its  domain  is  a  world  in  which 
individual  wills  and  passions  exist,  and  in  which 
interpose  all  the  errors  of  men  and  the  freaks  of 
destiny.  Who,  indeed,  can  boast  of  having  found 
the  ideal  line  which  limits  deviation  ?     Many  parts 


252  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

of  Guizot's  work  are  quite  conclusive.  He  must  be 
commended  for  having  employed  his  faculty  of 
generalization  to  withdraw  history  from  a  world  of 
chance  and  doubt.  We  are  grateful  to  him  for  hav- 
ing: Sfiven  it  a  solid  foundation.  Nevertheless,  we 
must  be  on  our  guard  against  this  too  simple  scheme 
which  he  prescribes  for  so  great  a  complexity  of  facts ; 
for  these  facts  are  themselves  sufficiently  symmetri- 
cal to  form  meshes  through  which  may  pass  all  the 
accidental  and  unusual  elements  to  be  found  in  all 
that  concerns  man.  So  disposed  are  we  to  con- 
sider what  happens  as  necessary,  and  what  does  not 
occur  as  impossible!  Just  so,  when  something 
takes  place  in  a  certain  manner,  are  we  in  the  habit 
of  declaring  that  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise! 

Guizot  carries  the  same  preoccupations  into  nar- 
ration. His  Histoire  de  la  Revohition  cf  A^igleterre 
is  conceived  in  the  manner  of  a  thesis  upon  social 
mechanics.  He  wishes  to  discover  the  "  causes 
which  have  assured  the  English  monarchy  the  suc- 
cess which  France  and  Europe  still  seek."  Alien 
to  all  curiosity  and  passion  alike,  he  suppresses  the 
dramatic  and  decorative  elements  of  history.  He 
prefers  to  employ  his  talent  to  condense  rather  than 
to  develop  circumstances.  From  them  he  does  not 
make  pictures  that  speak  to  the  eye,  but  systemati- 
cal resumes  subordinated  to  some  rational  theory. 
Satisfied  with  governing  facts,  he  will  not  permit 
himself  to  mingle  with  them ;  he  observes  them 
pass  in  file  beneath  his  eyes.  He  does  not  narrate, 
he  dogmatizes.  He  is  a  statesman,  a  philosopher, 
who  does  not  seek  sights  but  lessons. 


History.  253 

Knowing  Guizot  s  conception  of  history,  we  can 
easily  imagine  the  character  of  his  style.  He  writes 
forcibly  and  with  grandeur,  if  without  brilliancy. 
He  lacks  warmth  because  he  considers  events  with 
a  judge's  serenity  ;  movement,  because,  rather  than 
picture  the  tumult  of  human  issues,  he  is  intent 
upon  bringing  them  into  order;  coloring,  because 
he  makes  history  a  series  of  ideas,  not  a  succession 
of  scenes.  Ideas  do  not  furnish  him  with  colors, 
but  with  lines.  He  makes  a  bold,  somewhat  stiff 
design,  having  nothing  in  common  w^ith  the  ani- 
mated picture  of  facts,  but  in  harmony  with  the 
dogmatical  reason  of  the  historian.  Ideas  cannot 
be  painted  in  colors  ;  Guizot  engraves  them  with  a 
heavy  stroke.  His  diction  is  dull,  abstract,  and 
monotonous.  He  shades  everything  with  a  uniform 
grayish  tint.  As  a  writer,  no  more  than  as  a  histo- 
rian, does  he  evince  a  taste  or  knowledge  of  exterior 
forms.  If  Guizot  cannot  be  said  to  be  an  artist, 
his  style  certainly  possesses  all  the  qualities  of  a 
philosopher,  —  rectitude,  elevation,  and  imposing 
authority.  It  is  the  style  of  a  Calvinist,  a  theorist, 
and  a  historian  who  values  theories  above  facts,  and 
subjects  the  moving  spectacle  of  special  phenomena 
to  the  general  laws  under  which  he  classes  them. 

Mignet  belongs  to  the  same  school  as  Guizot. 
With  him  history  advances  *'  less  by  pleasing  nar- 
ratives or  moving  descriptions  than  by  profound 
researches  which  discover  the  hidden  causes  of 
events  by  means  of  considerations  which  explain 
their  relation  and  purport."     In  his  first  work  he 


254  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

reveals  the  precocious  maturity  of  a  mind  formed 
by  what  substantial  food  history  offers  to  the  rea- 
son. His  first  subject  is  an  almost  contemporary 
epoch.  Our  Revolution,  erstwhile  so  confused  and 
still  so  rife  with  storms,  possesses  the  ever-present 
danger  that  its  rancours  and  fanaticisms  may  cloud 
the  young  historian's  sight.  L'/iistoire  de  la  Revo- 
lution discloses  his  characteristic  qualities,  especially 
his  art  of  illuminating  facts  by  grouping  them,  of 
unfolding  the  great  lessons  they  contain,  and  of 
condensing  them  into  conclusive  formulas.  More 
warmth  and  color  are  to  be  found  in  other  histo- 
rians, but  in   none  greater  clearness. 

In  other  hands  les  Negociations  relatives  a  la  suc- 
cession d'Espagne  would  have  been  but  a  collection  of 
unedited  papers.  But  his  is  a  mind  eminently  dis- 
posed to  order,  having  the  faculty  of  "embracing 
vast  ensemblesT  By  binding  fragments  of  archives 
together  with  luminous  expositions,  he  erects  the 
greatest  monument  to  French  politics  under  Louis 
XIV., —  a  history  in  which  art  redoubles  the  signifi- 
cance of  documents.  Being  elected  perpetual  secre- 
tary to  the  Academy  of  Moral  Sciences,  he  finds 
new  employment  for  his  talents  in  the  eulogies  of 
the  Academicians,  which  he  elevates  to  the  rank  of 
history.  "  Relating  public  events  to  special  biog- 
raphies," he  "  shows  the  general  movement  of  ideas 
in  the  works  of  those  who  have  contributed  to  their 
development." 

The  strictly  historical  works  which  he  wrote 
during  the  latter  part  of  his  career  mark  a  new 
phase.     Though  somewhat  cramped  in  their  com- 


History.  255 

pactness,  his  finished,  scholarly  abstracts  alternate 
documents  with  narrative,  thus  filling  up  the  inter- 
vals and  throwing  light  upon  their  bearing  on  the 
subject.  These  are  succeeded  by  historical  com- 
positions more  ample  in  ordinance  and  develop- 
ment, in  which  the  author  assimilates  the  whole 
substance  of  texts  without  interrupting  his  recital 
to  quote  them.  Mignet  unites  the  dramatical  in- 
terest of  narration  with  elevation  of  view  and 
breadth  of  judgment.  In  his  later  works  he  recon- 
ciles the  talent  of  recounting  facts  with  the  power 
of  deducing  laws.  Idealism  is  the  natural  bent  of 
his  mind;  and  while  remaining  an  idealist  in  method, 
he  maintains  history  upon  a  solid  foundation.  He 
secures  it  against  the  danger  of  transcendent  ideal- 
ism by  always  selecting  his  great  subjects  from  con- 
crete, living  reality,  rather  than  from  a  world  of 
theory. 

He  has  been  condemned  for  being  a  fatalist. 
This  is  the  pitfall  of  philosophical  history,  for  the 
mind  becomes  so  inclined  to  chain  facts  rigorously 
together  that  they  seem  fatally  to  engender  each 
other.  Mignet's  first  works,  notably  his  Histoire 
sur  la  Revolution,  admit  of  this  criticism.  He  has 
said :  "  It  is  less  true  that  men  have  ordered  events 
than  that  events  have  ordered  men."  He  never- 
theless reserved  for  the  human  will  a  place  which 
he  gradually  enlarged.  His  general  philosophy 
consists  in  a  conciliation  of  free  will  with  the  "  tend- 
ing of  human  laws  towards  higher  ends."  To  him 
a  historical  "  system "  is  necessary  because  it  is 
providential.     But  if  Providence  implants  in  human- 


256  Literary  Movement  m  France, 

ity  a  supreme  will  which  cannot  be  modified  by 
individual  wills,  there  is  a  place  between  the  great 
lines  determined  by  this  will  for  the  interference  of 
particular  wills,  or  for  what  we  call  chance.  The 
flexibility  of  the  whole  plan  leaves  free  play  to  our 
passions  and  interests,  which  are  ruled  on  high  by 
the  infallible  purposes  of  divine  wisdom. 

From  Mignet's  point  of  view,  historical  composi- 
tion is  less  a  science  than  an  art,  or,  better,  an  art 
that  assumes  a  science.  As  he  is  an  artist  in  his 
gift  of  grouping  and  illuminating  facts,  so  is  he  also 
in  his  style,  the  learned  construction  of  which  is 
modelled  upon  what  he  calls  the  "  partie  fixe  "  of 
history.  He  has  not  believed  that  interest  in  events 
or  the  import  of  reflections  could  dispense  with  per- 
fection of  form.  By  his  style  he  also  sought  to 
grasp  that  ideal  truth  pursued  by  his  reason.  If  he 
fails  in  fully  realizing  his  purpose,  it  is  from  excess 
of  attention  to  form.  He  is  certainly  master  of  his 
diction,  but  we  feel  that  he  domineers  over  it. 
There  is  nothing  loose,  nothing  diffuse,  all  his 
phrases  are  carefully  balanced,  as  all  his  expressions 
are  intentionally  selected.  Mignet  disciplines  words 
just  as  be  disposes  facts.  As  a  writer  as  well  as  a 
moralist,  he  gives  as  little  play  as  possible  to  chance. 
It  would  be  vain  to  expect  from  him  ready  facility, 
the  charm  of  happy  negligence,  or  the  spontaneous 
and  unexpected.  It  would  be  unjust  to  demand  such 
qualities  from  a  mind  essentially  sedulous  and  dog- 
matical. Rather  should  we  admire  his  virile,  sus- 
tained eloquence,  which  unites  grace  and  force, 
clearness  and  fulness,  elegance  and  seriousness. 


History.  257 

Mignet  subordinates  historical  material  to  moral 
truth,  and  mobility  of*  detail  to  the  integrity  of  the 
ensemble.  Thiers,  on  the  contrary,  attempts  to 
reproduce  the  exact  reality  in  its  most  minute 
features  and  most  variable  circumstances.  He  is 
neither  a  painter  nor  a  philosopher;  he  is  an  admi- 
rably well-informed  "  reporter,"  having  a  keen,  in- 
quisitive mind  in  touch  with  everything.  Mignet 
had  related  the  history  of  the  Revolution  in  two 
volumes,  with  no  other  purpose  than  the  rational, 
psychological  interpretation  of  facts ;  Thiers,  with 
the  freedom  and  precision  of  a  fac-simile,  intro- 
duces all  the  positive  elements  of  history  into  his 
vast  work.  According  to  him,  this  view  of  history, 
rather  than  its  dramatic  side,  merits  the  attention  of 
serious  minds.  "  I  do  not  hesitate,"  he  says,  "  to  tell 
even  the  price  of  bread,  soap,  or  candles.  ...  I  be- 
lieved that  it  would  be  well  to  give  the  whole  truth." 
This  wealth  of  detail  which  he  considered  necessary 
to  historical  accuracy  is,  however,  in  his  case  united 
with  a  simple,  convincing  arrangement.  The  infinite 
variety  of  objects  which  he  embraces  seems  to 
conspire  naturally  towards  a  unity  of  ensemble 
which  is  developed  with  much  ease  and  grandeur. 
As  nothing  troubles  his  universal  efficiency,  so 
nothing  impairs  the  clearness  of  his  design,  nor 
impedes  the  flow  of  his  style. 

Among  all  the  historian's  faculties,  he  values 
insight  most  highly.  To  him  insight  represents 
the  true  genius  of  history.  It  penetrates  the  secrets 
of  war,  finance,  diplomacy ;  placing  the  reader's 
finger  upon  the  most  remote  springs,  and  showing 

17 


258  Literary  Movement  Z7z  France. 

him  the  most  imperceptible  workings  of  the  social, 
political,  and  administrative  mechanism.  It  always 
goes  straight  to  the  point,  to  the  exact  idea  or  cir- 
cumstantial detail.  Of  what  import,  for  example,  is 
the  praise  or  blame  bestowed  upon  great  military 
operations  when  not  preceded  by  a  practical  exposi- 
tion? It  is  but  vain,  crude  declamation!  Thiers 
falls  into  raptures  over  the  passing  of  the  Alps  only 
after  having  calculated  the  number  of  miles  trav- 
ersed, measured  the  depth  of  snow,  the  height  of 
mountains,  and  counted  the  pieces  of  artillery, 
the  munition,  and  provision  wagons.  He  studied 
military  tactics  with  Generals  Foy  and  Jomini, 
diplomacy  with  Talleyrand,  finance  with  the  Baron 
Louis,  and  politics  a  little  everywhere.  He  does 
not  even  consider  history  as  a  literary  form ;  and  if 
it  attains  artistic  beauty,  it  should  be  without  the 
historian's  intervention,  by  the  sole  effect  of  truth 
reproduced  with  lucid  exactitude. 

Insight  is  not  only  preferable  to  all  other  of  the 
historian's  qualities,  but  it  leads  them  all  in  its  train. 
By  its  aid  we  separate  the  true  from  the  false,  grasp 
the  character  of  different  men  and  ages,  give  every- 
thing its  true  proportions,  and  attain  the  most 
natural  and  consequently  the  most  beautiful  arrange- 
ment. By  its  aid  we  even  discern  that  descriptive  ele- 
ment found  only  in  history,  which  is  the  spontaneous 
outgrowth  of  the  keen,  faithful  observation  of  events 
and  people. 

To  grasp  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  is  Thiers' 
ideal.  His  need  of  comprehending  is  so  great  that 
it  leaves  almost  no  place  for  the  duty  of  passing 


History.  259 

judgment.  This  moral  neutrality  —  the  inertia  of 
a  conscience  allowing  itself  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  current  of  accomplished  facts  —  is  a  de- 
fect in  Thiers'  works.  They  lack  certain  ne- 
cessary protestations.  So  ready  are  we  to  absolve 
what  we  have  so  well  understood  and  so  clearly 
exposed ! 

"  Have  but  one  care,  that  of  being  exact,"  he  has 
said.  "  Examine  closely,  then  attempt  to  interpret 
scrupulously.  Always  proceed  like  the  world,  aim- 
ing only  to  be  true,  and  you  will  be  what  things 
themselves  are,  —  varied,  interesting,  instructive, 
dramatical,  picturesque."  He  was  inimical  to  all 
artifice,  and  the  slightest  pretence  on  the  part  of  the 
historian  displeased  him.  To  him  excellence  of 
form  consisted  in  never  being  perceived  or  felt ; 
style  should  have  no  other  object  than  to  present 
things.  There  are  no  pages  in  his  works  that  can 
be  detached ;  nor  are  there  pleasingly  drawn  por- 
traits, captivating  pictures,  or  fragments  cleverly 
wrought  into  effect.  He  does  not  strive  to  win 
admiration.  He  neither  aims  at  color  and  relief, 
relies  upon  it,  nor  even  seeks  it.  His  narrative  has 
the  fluidity  and  transparency  of  pure  water.  He 
wrote  to  Sainte-Beuve  :  "  It  is  a  great  presumption 
to  wish  to  attract  the  attention  of  others  to  one's 
self,  —  that  is,  to  one's  style."  This  contempt  for 
an  art  that  does  not  aim  exclusively  to  sustain  the 
natural,  explains  the  defects  of  his  form.  His  free- 
dom often  amounts  to  looseness;  his  style  is  too 
intermittent.  With  him  negligence  sometimes  bor- 
ders upon  inaccuracy.     Nowhere  does  he  give  the 


26o  Literary  Alovement  in  Fj'ance. 

impression  of  definite  form.  "  I  am  convinced  that 
the  most  beautiful  verses  cost  no  more  labor  than 
a  modest  page  of  narrative,"  he  has  said.  We  feel 
no  effort  in  his  writings,  by  no  means  a  reproach  ; 
but  so  many  defects  cause  us  to  doubt  whether  he 
has  given  it  any  attention  whatever.  We  would 
have  had  him  efface  many  repetitions,  correct  many 
negligences,  curtail  much  that  is  prolix ;  we  would 
have  liked  him  to  give  more  firmness,  more  accent, 
more  temper  to  his  expression.  His  faults  are, 
moreover,  united  to  such  qualities  of  style  as  free- 
dom of  movement,  naturalness,  flexibility,  and  trans- 
parent simplicity,  —  qualities  which  disappear  and 
are  lost  in  the  broad,  uninterrupted  current  of  his 
narrative.  Considering  history  merely  as  a  work  of 
practical  exposition,  proceeding  from  the  intellect 
and  addressed  to  it  alone,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
he  has  fulfilled  his  purpose.  With  the  exception  of 
a  few  blemishes,  his  style  becomes  the  model  of 
historical  composition,  and  he  can  truly  be  called 
a  great  writer  without  a  style. 

From  Thiers  to  Michelet  there  is  all  the  differ- 
ence between  a  practician  and  a  poet,  between  an 
intellect  seeking  to  understand  and  a  heart  consti- 
tuted to  feel  all  things.  The  one  imagines  facts, 
operations,  and  all  the  active,  technical  part  of 
history  with  marvellous  clearness ;  the  other  divines 
the  spirit  of  men  and  epochs  with  extraordinary 
vividness. 

Michelet's  imagination  is  his  most  characteristic 
quality.     With  him  history  became  more  and  more 


History.  261 

the  magical  evocation  of  past  ages.  But  the  poet 
is  also  a  scholar,  who  has  read  and  deciphered 
everything.  His  indefatigable  mind  always  ac- 
quires knowledge  at  first  hand,  and  no  one  is  less 
disposed  to  belittle  the  bearing  of  facts  or  miscon- 
strue the  import  of  documents.  In  his  mind  these 
facts  and  documents  are  transformed  into  expres- 
sive, vividly  colored  images,  dazzling  apparitions. 
Others  proceed  by  patient  analysis,  entering  little 
by  little  into  the  knowledge  of  men  and  things, 
and  grasping  an  ensemble  only  by  the  careful 
juxtaposition  of  its  constituent  parts.  Michelet 
possesses  the  genius  of  intuition.  Like  a  flash 
of  light  he  penetrates  characters,  races,  and  his- 
torical epochs,  seizing  all  there  is  to  be  seen  at 
a  single  glance. 

His  vocation  was  early  felt.  He  already  had 
a  vivid  perception  of  it  when  he  received  what 
he  calls  the  "  living  impression  of  history,"  in  that 
"  Museum  of  French  monuments  which  was  so 
unfortunately  destroyed."  "  I  peopled  those  tombs 
with  my  imagination,  smelt  the  dead  through  their 
marble  resting-places,  indeed,  not  without  terror 
did  I  enter  the  vaults  where  slept  Dagobert,  Chil- 
peric,  and  Fredegonde,"  he  says.  In  this  nervous, 
haunted  child  existed  the  germ  of  the  future  vis- 
ionary who  was  destined  to  make  history  a  resur- 
rection. No  artist  —  a  name  he  pleased  to  give 
himself  —  possessed  to  so  great  a  degree  the  sen- 
timent of  life,  not  only  of  individual,  but  also  of 
collective  life.  This  animated  life  his  gift  of  sym- 
bolical   personification    bestows    upon    races,   ages, 


262  Literary  Movement  in  Frafice. 

great  ideas  of  progress,  justice,  and  fraternal  love 
alike.  With  others,  imagination  is  more  voluntary, 
more  imperious ;  with  no  one  is  it  so  active,  so 
spontaneous.  Imagination  might  truly  be  called 
the  moral  function  of  his  mind.  He  grasps  ideas 
clearly  only  by  converting  them  into  images ;  or 
rather,  they  enter  his  brain  only  in  the  form  of 
pictures.  The  symbols  he  conceives  are  not  cold 
entities,  but  real  personages,  whose  concrete  forms 
or  instincts  and  sentiments  he  pictures  with  marvel- 
lous vivacity.  To  his  imagination  he  owes  his  gift 
of  seeing  and  making  others  see ;  to  it  he  is  also 
indebted  for  his  power  of  successively  reviving  the 
most  diverse  personalities. 

His  imagination  is  by  no  means  that  of  an  artist 
charmed  solely  by  the  appearance  of  things,  and 
finding  in  them  but  pleasure  for  the  eyes.  It 
proceeds  from  the  heart,  and  is  deeply  imbued  with 
an  ever-ready  pity  and  tenderness.  Michelet  lives 
by  sentiment  alone.  If  his  mind  "  enters  into  all 
doctrines,"  it  is  because  his  soul  "  sympathizes  with 
all  affections."  He  possesses  the  genius  of  sym- 
pathy. With  him  the  intellect  is  but  a  form  of 
sensibility.  He  comprehends  through  loving. 
From  his  depressed  and  suffering  childhood,  he 
felt  an  irresistible  force  urging  him  towards  the 
feeble,  life's  disinherited.  All  his  political  phi- 
losophy can  be  reduced  to  a  boundless  charity. 
The  heart  of  obscure  masses  beats  within  him.  In 
the  "  people "  he  sees  and  feels  a  multitude  of 
brothers,  over  whom  he  bends  to  gather  hopes, 
dreams,  entreaties,  sublime  outbursts  of  patriotism. 


History.  263 

unconquerable  yearnings  towards  ideal  justice. 
Incapable  of  self-restraint,  he  vibrates  with  every 
slightest  breath.  He  suffers  through  the  misfor- 
tune of  others ;  their  joys  expand  his  soul,  their 
enthusiasms  exalt  him.  There  is  no  epoch  through- 
out all  the  ages  with  which  Michelet  has  not  become 
contemporary.  No  one  has  expressed  the  mystical 
emotions  of  the  middle  ages  with  more  devout 
piety,  nor  the  frenzies  and  transports  of  the  revolu- 
tionary epoch  with  more  communicative  fervor. 
He  instinctively  identifies  himself  with  all  that  is 
pure,  great,  and  nobly  inspired  in  humanity.  He 
is  a  Catholic  with  St.  Bernard,  a  Protestant  with 
Luther,  and,  after  having  canonized  Jeanne  d  'Arc, 
erects  the  apotheosis  of  Danton. 

Michelet  is  the  most  impassioned  of  our  histo- 
rians. He  can  assume  the  tone  of  the  pamphlet 
and  that  of  the  dithyramb ;  alternating  strident 
irony  with  tender  pity,  cries  of  wrath  with  hymns 
of  love.  He  is  not  a  spectator  of  the  drama  of  his- 
tory; he  mounts  the  stage  himself,  mingles  with 
the  actors,  interrupts  their  action,  apostrophizes 
them,  and  animates  the  whole  stage  with  his  own 
enthusiasm.  The  first  time  he  improvised  his  lec- 
tures at  the  College  de  France,  he  remarked :  "  It 
will  not  be  short,  for  what  I  relate  is  myself !  "  In 
fact,  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  his  works  he 
relates  his  own  impressions.  He  introduces  him- 
self into  history,  with  all  his  ardors,  transports,  and 
ecstasies.  He  confides  sometimes  in  his  readers, 
sometimes  in  the  characters  themselves.  Always 
sincere,  he    could  not  be  impartial.      Impartiality 


264  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

could  not  be  united  with  his  incessant  nervous  ten- 
sion and  the  abnormal  keenness  of  his  impressions. 
To  him  this  is  but  a  sign  of  indifference  and  self- 
abdication. 

He  is  the  least  regular  of  Classical  writers  as  well 
as  being  the  most  personal  and  original.  He  has 
no  periods.  His  sentences  break  at  every  turn  ; 
they  boil,  leap,  and  foam.  He  defies  syntax,  some- 
times violates  it.  He  multiplies  inversions,  ellipses, 
and  metaphors.  In  vain  language  chafes,  rears,  and 
demands  respite  from  its  furious  rider ;  breathless, 
he  urges  on  with  redoubled  spur-pricks.  For 
Michelet  style  is  one  with  idea  or  sentiment.  With- 
out rule  or  measure,  strained,  impatient,  feverish,  it 
arrests  our  attention  and  confuses  our  judgment 
with  its  perpetual  pranks.  It  is  the  style  of  an 
imagination  always  on  the  alert,  a  sensibility  in  a 
continual  state  of  vibration.  He  overpowers  us  by 
the  violence  of  his  effects,  shocks  our  nerve  system, 
forces  sensation.  We  must  not  look  for  methodi- 
cal composition  or  even  a  continuous  recital.  The 
emotion  he  is  powerless  to  master  breaks  out  here 
and  there  in  apostrophes,  eulogies,  anathemas.  He 
proceeds  by  impetuous  flashes.  Arriving  at  the 
sixteenth  century,  he  jumps  abruptly  to  the  Revo- 
lution, under  the  pretext  that  it  contains  the  secret 
of  the  preceding  centuries.  What  he  does  here  on 
a  large  scale,  he  repeats  in  a  lesser  degree  in  every 
page  of  his  work.  His  narration  is  without  sequence ; 
it  advances  by  sudden  jerks,  and  is  bound  together 
by  a  broken  line.  What  is  movement  in  others, 
with   him   becomes  a^^itation,  a  sort  of  furtive  rest- 


History.  265 

lessness  or  convulsive  skipping.  The  current  of 
his  history  has  no  bed.  It  neither  relates  nor  ex- 
poses nor  disposes ;  it  is  a  lyrical  causerie,  impossible 
to  submit  to  any  method,  overturning  the  order  of 
events,  and  clashing  centuries  together.  Its  law  is 
not  the  natural  succession  of  events  or  the  lo2:ical 
connection  of  ideas,  but  the  brusque,  instinctive 
association  of  sentiments. 

In  making  a  purely  subjective  work  of  history, 
Michelet  yields  to  the  caprices  of  his  uncertain, 
fanciful  disposition.  Into  it  he  introduces  not  only 
unsafe  hypotheses,  but  imprudent  curiosity,  un- 
seemly famiHarities,  inappropriate  personalities. 
This  tendency  seems  to  increase  as  he  proceeds. 
He  explains  the  greatest  events  by  trivial  causes  ; 
multiplies  his  gleanings  from  questionable  sources  ; 
searches  scandalous  anecdotes  from  the  seamy  side 
of  chronicles ;  disconcerts  the  reader  by  the  most 
unexpected  and  sometimes  the  strangest  compari- 
sons ;  crosses  the  rigid  lines  of  history  by  the  thou- 
sand arabesques  of  his  phantasy.  This  historian, 
from  whom  we  must  often  withhold  our  belief,  even 
when  most  to  be  doubted,  always  remains  a  magi- 
cian who  delights  us.  Though  he  imparts  a  dan- 
gerous charm  to  the  illusions  of  his  mind,  he  grasps 
with  a  single  effort  truths  over  which  the  keenest 
analysis  could  have  no  hold.  A  few  words,  a  ges- 
ture, a  single  characteristic,  suffice  to  give  him  a 
complete  idea  of  an  individual,  and  the  whole  figure 
surges  up  in  his  brain.  He  supplies  the  gaps  of 
science  by  divination.  He  does  not  teach  history; 
he  reveals  it.     There  is  something  of  the  juggler, 


266  Literary  Movement  in  Fra^ice, 

of  the  soothsayer,  almost  of  the  prophet  about  him. 
His  work  is  sometimes  a  dream,  often  a  vision, 
always  a  poem.  Wherever  the  artist's  imagination 
does  not  beguile  the  historian's  erudition,  it  vivifies 
and  enriches  his  work,  placing  wings  upon  his  feet 
and  a  torch  in  his  hand. 


Critirism.  267 


CHAPTER   VII. 

CRITICISM. 

THE  nineteenth  century  renewed  criticism  by 
bringing  history  into  service.  It  became 
the  interpretation  of  Kterary  works,  considered  as 
the  most  faithful  and  expressive  picture  of  the 
society  that  saw  them  created.  Previous  to  our 
epoch  criticism  had  consisted  in  the  application 
both  of  the  universal  laws  designed  to  govern  all 
productions  of  mind  and  the  special  rules  which 
determined  the  character  of  each  literary  form. 
It  passed  judgment  upon  works,  viewing  them 
independently  of  all  relation  to  time  and  milieu. 
It  isolated  them  from  particular  circumstances  and 
local  conditions  to  examine  them  in  themselves, 
and  with  no  other  test  for  comparison  than  its 
abstract  ideal.  It  grasped  no  necessary  relation 
between  the  writer  and  his  compositions.  Being 
purely  dogmatical  and  speculative,  it  pursued  its 
ends  aided  only  by  abstract,  general  reason  sup- 
ported by  a  more  or  less  refined  taste,  which  was 
as  exclusively  occupied  in  discovering  virtues  and 
defects  as  was  the  reason  in  confirming  rules. 

The  great  literary  contest  between  the  ancients 
and  the  moderns  absorbed  almost  the  entire  Classical 


268  Literary  Movement  i?i  France. 

period.  It  seems  as  if  this  discussion  should  have 
brought  history  and  criticism  together,  but  neither 
side  appeared  to  understand  the  ethnic  and  chmatic 
variations  that  modify  the  human  mind.  They 
comprehended  neither  the  social  influences  that 
leave  their  imprint  upon  every  work  of  art,  nor  the 
individual  conditions  that  explain  the  author  by  the 
man.  The  "  ancients "  do  not  consider  Homer 
as  the  representative  of  a  primitive  civilization  which 
he  has  rendered  in  all  the  naivete  of  its  manners ; 
they  vie  with  each  other  in  proving  that  Homeric 
diction  is  always  noble.  By  the  same  historical 
misconception,  the  "  moderns "  cavil  at  the  Greek 
poet  for  his  revolting  "  vulgarities."  Of  what  do 
they  accuse  him }  Forsooth,  of  his  ignorance  of 
the  elegant  manners  and  polite  language  of  the 
court  of  Louis  XIV.  Both  ancients  and  moderns 
are  powerless  to  emerge  from  their  own  age ;  both 
alike  lack  the  sentiment  and  comprehension  of 
history.  Some  obtain  all  their  arguments  from  a 
criticism  confined  to  taste  and  diction ;  others 
advance  the  supreme  reason  that  nature  is  always 
the  same,  just  as  if  a  literary  work  could  be  detached 
from  its  native  soil  and  torn  from  its  roots.  In  liter- 
ary compositions  they  see  but  the  product  of  an 
abstract  force,  varied  in  its  effects  by  no  casualties. 

Classicism  comprehends  and  wishes  to  compre- 
hend but  itself.  According  to  it,  our  poetry  begins 
with  Malherbe,  and  our  prose  with  Balzac.  It  holds 
in  aversion  all  that  does  not  conform  to  its  ideal  of 
noble  harmony  and  eloquent  reason.  Everything 
hostile  to  its  own  preferences  it  condemns  as  lack  of 


Criticism.  269 

taste ;  everything  that  does  not  coincide  with  its 
proprieties  it  considers  improper.  It  must  not  be 
expected  to  see  what  surrounds  it ;  for  it  finds  there 
but  disorder  and  odious  irregularity.  It  is  for  other 
literatures  to  imitate  Classicism.  It  ignores  them, 
thus  avoiding  their  dangerous  contagion.  It  is 
sufficient  unto  itself,  for  are  not  its  masterpieces 
known  to  the  whole  world  ? 

It  was  not  before  the  beginning  of  our  century    j 
and  under  the  growing  influence  of  Romanticism    I 
that  criticism   was    renewed.      It   then  invited   the    \ 
support  of  history,  welcomed  comparisons,  became    / 
broad,  tolerant,  and  sympathetic  with  all  attempts    \ 
to  restore  youth  to  our  exhausted  literature.     While     \ 
the    official   practicians    of    Classicism    during    the     I 
Imperial   epoch  were  fortifying  themselves  with  its 
ever-narrowing  formulas,  the  two  great  writers  who 
presided  over  our  literary  renaissance  were  opening 
a  new  field  to  criticism.      For  the  petty  application 
of  rules,   they  substituted  the  generous  sentiment 
and  liberal  comprehension  of  a  beauty  to  be  found 
under  the  most  diverse  aspects,  considering  litera- 
ture not  only  in  its  exterior  form,  but  in  relation  to 
the  social  conditions  which  it  mirrors. 

Chateaubriand  vivified  criticism  by  the  sensibility 
of  his  imagination  ;  Madame  de  Stael  extended  its 
limits  on  all  sides  by  her  active,  open,  independent 
mind.  As  has  been  remarked,  the  author  of  la  Litte- 
rafure  was  the  real  initiator  of  our  comparative  his- 
torical method.  In  this  work  she  wishes  to  show 
what  "  relations  exist  between  the  art  and  social 
institutions  of  each  age  and  country,"  justly  con- 


270  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

eluding  that  "  this  work  has  never  yet  been  per- 
formed in  any  known  book."  More  extended  and 
more  profound  studies  would  have  been  necessary 
to  cover  such  a  vast  programme,  but  it  is  none  the 
less  the  outline  of  an  entirely  new  science.  In  her 
first  work  Madame  de  Stael  turns  the  light  of  history 
upon  criticism.  In  Allemagne,  however,  she  makes 
known  to  us  a  literature  differing  greatly  from  our 
own.  By  so  doing  she  expands  the  field  of  com- 
parisons, and  acquaints  French  genius  with  beauties 
of  thought  and  sentiment  neither  appreciated  nor 
admitted  by  Classic  culture. 

The  first  work  properly  called  criticism,  which,  in 
Madame  de  Stael's  own  words,  "  was  vividly  colored 
by  a  new  age,"  is  that  published  by  Barante  in  1809. 
While  La  Harpe's  successors  were  scrutinizing  tra- 
ditional rules,  and  confining  themselves  to  a  sterile, 
punctilious  haggling  of  words,  Barante  was  boldly 
following  in  the  path  traced  out  by  the  author  of 
la  Litterature.  For  discussions  upon  rhetoric  and 
grammar  he  substituted  the  impartial  study  of  ideas. 
This  vast  plan  which  had  been  outlined  by  Madame 
de  Stael  he  restricted  to  one  epoch  ;  this  entirely 
new  formula  that  "literature  is  the  expression  of 
society,"  which  had  already  been  admitted  by  "  ex- 
cellent minds,"  he  applied  to  the  eighteenth  century. 
With  keen  insight  into  his  times  he  pointed  out 
what  of  past  heritage  should  be  accepted  by  the 
future.  He  clearly  states  his  conception  of  criti- 
cism in  the  preface  to  his  translation  of  Schiller  as 
follows  :  "  It  does  not  concern  us  to  learn  whether 
these  dramas  are  good  or  bad  by  submitting  them  to 


Criticism.  271 

certain  rules  and  comparing  them  with  others  which 
we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  admiring.  Such  an 
examination  would  be  a  superfluous  and  unproduc- 
tive task.  Some  advantage,  on  the  contrary,  may 
accrue  from  attempting  to  discover  what  connection 
exists  between  Schiller's  works  and  the  character, 
situation,  and  opinions  of  the  author,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances which  enveloped  him.  Criticism  so 
considered  .  .  .  approaches  nearer  the  study  of  man 
and  of  the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  the  most 
curious  and  most  useful  of  all  investigations."  It 
became  characteristic  of  the  method  which  the 
new  century  was  destined  to  follow,  to  include  in 
the  analysis  of  works  the  personality  and  social 
environment  of  writers. 

This  renovation  of  criticism  by  the  aid  of  history 
and  psychology  is  in  the  line  of  the  progress  of  the 
French  mind  towards  that  tolerance  which  be- 
comes more  and  more  characteristic  of  Roman- 
ticism. Its  task  is  to  renounce  all  narrow  dogmatism 
at  the  outset,  to  explain  rather  than  judge  works. 
The  knowledge  of  foreign  literatures  continued  to 
spread,  and  aided  us  to  free  ourselves  from  scho- 
lastic prejudices.  The  great  events  of  the  close  of 
the  eighteenth  and  the  beginning  of  our  own  cen- 
tury further  aroused  many  young  minds  to  the  need 
of  a  literature  which  would  gain  in  effective  power 
what  it  doubtless  lost  in  refinement.  A  more  ex- 
pressive art  was  necessary  to  the  people  that  had 
lived  through  the  Revolution  and  the  wars  of  the 
Empire,  than  to  the  courtiers  of  Louis  XIV. 


272  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

While  the  pseudo-Classical  school  was  seeking  to 
confine  the  eager,  impatient  genius  of  the  age 
within  the  narrow  observance  of  rules  and  the  timid 
imitation  of  models,  a  spirit  of  thoughtful,  intelli- 
gent independence  was  forming  among  the  younger 
generations.  Always  remaining  faithful  to  domes- 
tic traditions,  they  attempted  to  conciliate  them 
with  a  broader,  more  impartial  conception  of  beauty. 
The  greater  part  of  those  who  represented  literary 
liberalism  were  grouped  about  a  review  which  was 
destined  to  exercise  a  decisive  influence  upon  pub- 
lic taste.  This  review,  the  Globe,  founded  in  1824, 
was,  for  the  six  years  of  its  existence,  the  organ  of  a 
hospitable  criticism  aiming  to  arouse  and  encourage 
new  efforts  by  giving  them  a  welcome  reception. 
It  took  an  active  part  in  all  that  concerned  reforma- 
tion, and  directed  the  great  literary  movement  of  the 
times.  It  fought  against  the  overweening  intoler- 
ance of  scholasticism,  without  favoring  that  juvenile 
foolhardiness  which  might  compromise  Roman- 
ticism. It  taught  France  to  admire  the  great 
foreign  poets,  at  the  same  time  always  firmly  main- 
taining what  is  truly  national  in  Classic  discipline. 
To  fidelity  to  tradition  it  united  the  love  of  novelty; 
to  respect  of  the  past,  faith  in  the  future.  It  was  as 
audacious  with  discernment  as  it  was  circumspect 
with  decision. 

Without  taking  an  active  part  in  the  quarrels  of 
the  epoch,  Villemain  was  acclaimed  the  leader  of 
the  movement  by  the  editors  of  the  Globe;  for 
he   had   preceded  them  in  the  path  in  which  they 


Criticism.  273 

were  guiding  the  new  generations  with  such  a  just 
and  liberal  spirit.  He  is  the  first  of  our  writers 
consistently  to  apply,  in  works  remarkable  for  their 
scope  and  for  their  excellence,  that  method  which 
Madame  de  Stael's  enterprise  had  introduced. 

According  to  Villemain's  thinking,  letters  repre- 
sent the  human  mind.  He  does  not  confine  him- 
self to  the  interpretation  of  rules,  the  appreciation 
of  fine  speech,  or  the  unwinding  of  delicate  shades 
of  thought  and  feeling ;  he  makes  literary  studies 
a  means  of  historical  knowledge,  or,  better  said,  he 
elevates  them  to  the  dignity  of  social  science.  He 
throws  light  upon  the  writer's  influence  upon 
manners,  and  their  action  upon  his  character;  an 
author's  works  are  included  in  his  biography,  and 
he  is  explained  by  his  surroundings.  Villemain's 
most  important  work  concerns  the  eighteenth 
century,  that  very  age  when  "  the  spirit  of  letters 
became  a  part  of  the  social  life,  both  reproducing 
and  animating  it."  Here  he  points  out  either  the 
"  influence  Of  some  man  of  genius,"  or  "  the  prog- 
ress of  society  confounding  itself  with  the  general 
character  of  literature  and  the  great  diversity  of 
talents  of  the  second  order."  In  studying  the 
literary  works  of  peoples  united  by  a  perpetual 
commerce  of  ideas,  he  makes  us  follow  the  simul- 
taneous development  of  national  civilizations  which, 
after  their  particular  currents  have  been  crossed 
in  every  direction,  finally  unite  in  the  universal 
evolution  of  mankind.  Without  formally  express- 
ing his  general   theory,  he  pursues  its  application 

with    a   unity   of    view   apparent   through    all    his 

18 


2  74  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

digressions.  We  observe  it  in  the  arrangement  of 
his  subject,  and  in  the  wealth  of  comparisons  which 
he  brings  to  bear  not  only  upon  literatures,  but 
upon  societies  in  a  permanent  state  of  mutual 
exchange.  To  his  mind,  literary  history  is  the 
history  of  universal  civilization.  "  What  remains 
of  the  English  orators  ? "  demanded  Fontanes. 
And  Villemain,  who  was  soon  to  dedicate  such 
beautiful  pages  to  them,  replied  :  "  What  remains 
of  them  ?     America  !  " 

To  the  new  criticism  he  brought  just  what  was 
lacking  in  the  recognized  champions  of  Classicism, 
—  that  is,  a  finished  and  profound  appreciation 
of  ancient   and  modern   letters. 

Previous  to  our  times,  antiquity  had  been  little 
or  grossly  misunderstood.  Boileau  proved  himself 
completely  wanting  in  historical  and  poetical  com- 
prehension of  the  Greek  masterpieces ;  even 
Racine,  with  all  his  pliability  and  refinement,  saw 
ancient  races  clothed  in  the  costumes  of  his  own 
epoch  and  through  the  sentiments  of  the  modern 
soul.  La  Henriade  and  CEdipe  show  us  in  what 
Voltaire  failed  to  understand  Homer  and  Sophocles. 
After  the  testimony  of  our  master  poets,  what  can 
be  said  of  such  critics  as  La  Harpe  ?  The  author 
of  Pkiloctete  had  read  the  Greek  writers  in  French, 
and  we  know  how  the  eighteenth  century  cos- 
tumed them.  He  translates  Suetonius  bavins:  little 
or  no  acquaintance  with  Latin,  and  this  translation 
itself  exposes  his  ignorance.  Indeed,  La  Harpe  is 
all  the  more  authoritative  for  beino:  little  encum- 
bered  by  learning. 


Criticism.  275 

Villemain  rehabilitates  criticism  by  his  knowl- 
edge of  Classical  antiquity.  Comprehending  Latin 
thoroughly,  he  appreciates  all  its  treasures,  and  its 
great  writers  are  his  daily  companions.  Nor  is  he 
less  a  master  of  Greek,  with  which  he  has  been 
familiar  since  childhood.  Instead  of  disfiguring 
the  Philoctetus  of  Sophocles,  as  La  Harpe  had 
done,  he  plays  it  in  the  original  text.  With  an 
entirely  new  revelation  of  Greek  genius,  he  trans- 
lates that  same  Pindar  who  had  been  called  by  the 
eighteenth  century  through  the  mouth  of  Voltaire, 
the  poet  of  Grecian  cab-drivers  and  hand-to-hand 
scuffles.  With  him  the  contemptuous  ignorance, 
and  self-sufficiency  of  facile  admiration  is  succeeded 
by  the  intelligent  appreciation  of  Greek  genius, 
which  for  the  first  time  lights  up  and  vivifies  our 
criticism. 

To  Greco-Latin  antiquity  Villemain  unites  famil- 
iarity with  Christian  origins  studied  at  first  hand ; 
to  that  of  the  middle  ages,  whose  monuments  con- 
temporary scholars  were  discovering  beneath  his 
ever-watchful  eyes,  he  adds  a  wide  acquaintance 
with  foreign  literatures,  without  which  criticism  is 
necessarily  incomplete.  He  is,  however,  ignorant 
of  German ;  his  mind,  so  clear  and  active,  contents 
itself  with  greeting  from  afar  the  "gods  of  Ger- 
many," and  does  not  trouble  itself  to  "  follow  them 
through  the  mazes  of  their  lofty  thoughts."  But 
he  is  quite  at  home  in  Italy  and  Spain.  The 
England  of  Milton  and  Shakespeare  very  early 
possessed  charm  for  him ;  while  that  of  Fox  and 
Sheridan  became  a  second  fatherland.     The  extent 


276  Liie7'ary  Movement  in  Fra^ice. 

and  variety  of  his  acquisitions  furnished  him  with 
resources  lacking  in  his  predecessors  ;  hence  his 
wealth,  fertility,  and  the  keen  interest  of  his  works. 
He  here  finds  the  means  of  strengthening  a  method 
that  proceeds  by  endless  comparisons,  and,  by  es- 
tablishing them  in  three  or  four  countries  at  the 
same  time,  he  makes  what  he  calls  a  literary 
panorama. 

He  differs  from  such  as  La  Harpe  and  Geoffrey 
in  his  learning  no  less  than  from  pure  scholars  in 
his  easy,  flowing  eloquence.  He  possesses  the 
charm,  the  desire,  and  the  gift  of  pleasing.  He 
shuns  all  pedantic  display,  all  dry,  laborious  dis- 
cussions. He  grasps  only  the  pleasing  aspect  of 
things.  Passing  lightly  over  rhetorical  complica- 
tions, he  animates  them  with  his  gayety  and  gathers 
blossoms  from  the  thorny  stalks  of  grammar.  Ville- 
main's  writings  permit  us  to  appreciate  but  imper- 
fectly his  natural  grace  and  charm,  though  they 
suffice  to  show  us  in  what  his  literary  gifts  distin- 
guish him  from  the  least  sedulous  of  scholars.  His 
purely  literary  talent  everywhere  introduces  not 
only  esprit  and  imagination,  but  sentiment,  enthu- 
siasm, and  communicative  emotion.  No  one  has 
distinguished  criticism  more  than  he ;  no  one  has 
brought  to  it  the  vivacity  of  sentiment,  the  fine  dis- 
tinctions of  taste,  and  the  insinuating  charm  of 
diction  which  we  find  in  him. 

He  might  be  criticised  for  a  certain  timidity  of 
style  which  too  often  forbids  the  appropriate  word, 
and  sacrifices  the  effect  of  graphic  reality  to  stupid 
proprieties.    That  Luce  de  Lancival  was  Villemain's 


Criticism.  277 

master  in  French  rhetoric,  is  very  evident  from  his 
somewhat  overvvrouo:ht  manner,  and  an  effort  to- 
wards  expression  that  detracts  from  the  desired 
effect.  Having  the  same  scruples  in  respect  to 
ideas  as  for  forms,  he  fears  to  commit  himself,  seeks 
to  evade  a  categorical  conclusion,  and,  just  when  we 
are  expecting  it,  withdraws  with  a  few  conventional 
words.  In  addition,  he  neither  enters  sufficiently 
into  the  biographical  and  psychological  study  of 
writers,  nor  into  the  analysis  of  their  works.  He 
is  a  critic  of  exquisite  taste,  but,  though  eminently 
true,  even  this  virtue  involves  many  deficiencies. 
Villemain  lacks  an  exact,  pointed  method,  which 
cannot  be  compensated  for  by  the  brilliant  qualities 
of  his  mind  and  the  refinement  of  his  literary  tact. 
He  will  be  followed  by  others,  who,  being  confined 
to  a  narrower  field,  will  be  able  to  gird  closer  their 
subjects,  applying  the  rigorous  method  of  natural 
sciences  to  the  "  science  of  minds."  Nevertheless, 
it  remains  true  that  Villemain  paved  the  way  for 
them  by  opening  criticism  to  history  on  all  sides. 

Nizard  maybe  opposed  to  Villemain  as  best  quali- 
fied to  represent  the  idealistic,  didactic  method. 

Nizard  makes  literary  criticism  a  rational  con- 
struction. He  dogmatizes.  His  criticism  concerns 
none  but  approved  monuments,  embracing  only 
what  is  constant  and  unchangeable  in  the  French 
mind.  He  lays  aside  everything  that  relates  to 
time,  everything  that  relates  to  the  individual.  He 
cares  only  to  know  eternal  beauties.  To  him  a 
work  is  great  only  when  it  exposes  in  perfect  Ian- 


2/8  Literary  Movement  i^i  France. 

guage  truths  limited  by  neither  time  nor  space,  — 
the  substance  of  human  reason.  He  aims  to  detach 
from  our  literature  what  is  essential  and  truly 
typical.  For  him,  excellence  of  style,  like  the 
reason  to  which  he  gives  expression,  consists  in 
being  "  general,"  not  only  by  avoiding  the  modes 
and  caprices  of  a  day,  but  by  becoming  the  accom- 
plice of  no  passion  or  individual  fancy.  This 
freedom  he  achieves  by  casting  aside  everything 
that  reveals  the  individual,  with  his  peculiarities  of 
mind,  imagination,  and  temperament.  To  "  com- 
mon sense "  he  sacrifices  what  he  calls  "  proper 
sense."  From  his  point  of  view  a  genius  is  not  a 
privileged  being  who  conceives  and  feels  differently 
from  other  men ;  he  is  one  who  says  what  all  the 
world  knows,  who  gives  a  definite  form  to  the 
thoughts  of  the  masses,  — an  intelligent  echo.  From 
books,  Nizard  has  formed  an  "  ideal  of  the  human 
mind,  an  ideal  of  French  genius,  and  still  another 
ideal  of  the  French  language.  Each  author  and 
each  book  he  submits  to  this  triple  standard,  con- 
sidering all  that  approaches  it  as  good  and  all  that 
is  removed  from  it  as  bad." 

Criticism  so  understood,  as  he  himself  declares, 
lacks  the  charm  lent  by  history  in  conjunction  with 
letters,  biography,  and  comparative  literature.  Its 
purpose  is  not  to  follow  our  genius  from  age  to  age, 
beginning  with  its  first  lispings ;  it  scorns  to  seek  its 
characteristic  traits  among  the  throng  of  secondary 
writers.  To  the  glory  of  national  genius  it  erects 
a  monument  from  which  is  jealously  excluded  all 
that  the  architect's  severe  taste  deems  unworthy  of 


Criticism.  279 

being  represented.  Nizard  does  not  abandon  him- 
self to  the  natural  course  of  things ;  he  does  not 
seek  to  reflect  the  infinite  variety  of  talents,  to  fol- 
low their  windings  and  accidents,  to  diffuse  himself, 
so  to  speak,  round  about  their  works.  Liberty  and 
diversity  have  no  place  in  his  inflexible  plan.  His 
method  is  purely  abstract,  and  he  applies  it  with 
signal  integrity.  In  truth,  his  work  is  not  a  his- 
tory, but  a  philosophy.  He  does  not  expose  facts ; 
he  proves  them.  He  does  not  relate  the  history  of 
French  literature  ;  he  founds  a  theory  of  the  French 
mind,  to  him  the  most  perfect  type  of  human 
reason. 

What  criticism  thus  loses  in  color,  movement, 
and  flexibility,  it  gains  in  strength  and  firmness. 
Nizard,  however,  displays  in  the  application  of  his 
method  a  rigor  accentuating  all  that  is  rigid,  abso- 
lute, and  artificial  in  its  conception.  More  than 
all  else  can  he  be  criticised  for  narrowly  immuring 
that  French  genius  which  his  entire  work  glorifies. 
The  French  mind,  as  understood  by  him,  has 
realized  his  ideal  only  during  that  short  period 
which  begins  with  the  foundation  of  the  French 
Academy  and  terminates  with  the  "  great  century.'' 
This  includes  but  fifty  years  of  our  literature ;  but 
have  not  these  fifty  years  forever  fixed  our  lan- 
guage and  literature?  Nizard's  criticism  is  oppressed 
by  his  religion  for  Classicism.  He  does  not  suffi- 
ciently appreciate  the  fact  that  the  genius  of  a  people 
is  ceaselessly  renewed,  that  every  innovation  after  a 
Classical  epoch  is  not  a  mark  of  fatal  decadence. 
In  the  eighteenth  century  he  does  not  wish  to  see 


2 So  Liter ajy  Move7ne7it  in  Frajice. 

a  continuation,  or  rather  a  deviation  from  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Among  the  innumerable  "  losses  " 
ascribed  to  the  past  of  our  Hterature,  we  discover 
with  difficulty  here  and  there  its  scanty  "gains." 
All  that  preceded  these  few  years  of  pure,  true 
Classicism  was  a  preparation ;  all  that  followed,  a 
decline. 

"  I  would  not  know  how  to  love  without  pref- 
erence, and  I  would  not  know  how  to  prefer  with- 
out injustice,"  he  has  said.  He  exalts  the  writers 
in  whom  he  finds  his  ideal  of  fair-spoken  reason, 
disciplined  power,  and  sustained  order  ;  he  severely 
condemns  those  venturesome  spirits  who  have  lost 
their  equilibrium  through  impatience  of  rule  and 
the  claims  of  personal  inspiration.  In  Fenelon  he 
sees  but  the  "  esprit  de  chimere ;  "  in  Rousseau,  but 
the  "esprit  d'utopie."  Founded  upon  Classic  tradi- 
tion, with  "common-sense"  for  its  guide,  his  criti- 
cism mounts  guard  against  all  the  invasions  of  novelty. 
It  is  eminently  conservative  and  imperative.  It 
purposes  to  "  defend  the  truth  against  the  twofold 
mobility  of  the  human  mind  and  national  genius." 
It  is  a  criticism  of  resistance  and  coercion.  Though 
it  does  not  declare  "  the  human  mind  exhausted,"  it 
constantly  reminds  us  of  what  "  immortal  "  works 
have  been  accomplished.  Without  attempting  to 
suppress  liberty,  it  holds  it  in  suspicion.  It  main- 
tains that  "  liberty  is  full  of  perils  and  errors ;  "  that 
"  discipline  adds  to  real  strength  what  it  takes  away 
from  false,  capricious  forces."  This  is  the  principle 
of  his  admiration  for  the  seventeenth  century  and 
those  of  its  writers  who,  like  Bossuet  and  Boileau, 


Criticism,  281 

represent  authority.  This  is  why  he  magnifies 
its  institutions,  which,  Hke  the  French  Academy, 
rule  minds,  uphold  tradition,  preserve  language, 
and  protect  against  the  inroads  of  fashion  or  the 
errors  of  "  proper  sense  "  that  general  reason  which 
represents  to  him  the  characteristic  attribute  of  our 
race.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  this  conception 
should  not  have  been  united  with  greater  breadth  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  its  elevation  and  vigorous 
qualities  must  be  duly  recognized. 

To  Nizard's  categorical,  authoritative  mind,  criti- 
cism is  the  application  of  a  rational  theory.  In 
Sainte-Beuve,  on  the  contrary,  we  find  one  of  the 
most  pliable,  liberal  of  minds  also  the  most  exempt 
from  all  exclusive  doctrines.  The  one  in  a  single 
view  embraces  all  our  literary  history,  to  lead  it 
back,  and,  if  necessary,  constrain  it  towards  that 
abstract  unity  which  he  pursues  ;  the  other  here 
and  there  makes  points  as  if  by  chance,  with  no 
sequence,  no  plan,  no  apparent  method.  The  one 
attacks  only  geniuses  of  the  highest  order,  and,  in 
writing  an  essentially  didactic  work,  gives  no  thought 
to  authors,  who  are  useless  to  "  well-ordered  minds," 
and,  perhaps,  harmful  to  "  unformed  minds."  The 
other  carefully  notes  all  the  most  minute  phenomena 
of  literary  life,  and  his  more  temperate  admiration 
for  masterpieces  is  united  to  an  ever-ready  interest 
in  second  or  third  class  writers.  These  he  skilfully 
utilizes  to  make  us  better  acquainted  with  the  spirit 
of  their  epoch,  as  well  as  with  that  mean  humanity 
which  is  the  moralist's  true  domain.     One  judges 


282  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

authoritatively  according  to  infallible  principles ;  the 
other  adapts  himself  with  marvellous  facility  to  an 
infinite  multiplicity  of  talents.  He  is  like  "  the  tyrant 
with  the  castle  containing  thirty  rooms,  of  whom  it 
was  always  uncertain  in  which  of  the  thirty  he 
might  be  found  sleeping."  While  the  first  con- 
structs a  system,  the  second  collects  detached 
studies  and  dispersed  observations. 

Many  features  in  which  Sainte-Beuve  differs 
from  Nizard  disclose  his  affinity  with  Villemain. 
But  if  Villemain  can  be  considered  the  predecessor 
of  Sainte-Beuve,  the  great  advances  which  the 
literary  critic  has  made  over  the  former  in  reality,  in 
precision,  and  in  pointed  exactitude  are  very  evi- 
dent. With  him  criticism  is  not  satisfied  with  the 
"general  description  of  an  age."  As  closely  as 
possible  it  "  clinches  the  analyses  both  of  the  char- 
acters of  authors  and  of  their  works."  It  effect- 
ually escapes  an  "  admiration  at  once  too  textual 
and  too  abstract."  It  "  besieges  "  writers.  It  profits 
by  a  liberty  restrained  by  no  partis-pris,  not  to 
float  vaguely  around  an  epoch  aiming  only  to  repro- 
duce its  most  apparent  contours ;  unlimited  by 
preconceived  theories,  it  multiplies  at  will  and 
diversifies  studies  upon  individual  "  subjects  "  and 
"  conditions,"  each  of  which  is  a  pyschological 
problem. 

There  is  both  a  poet  and  a  critic  in  Sainte-Beuve. 
The  critic  to  whom  we  referred  when  the  poet  was 
considered  is  not  less  marked  in  his  Volupte,  a 
novel  devoid  of  all  creative  vigor,  and  interesting 
only  for   the  keen   subtlety  of   its   analyses.     The 


Criticism.  283 

critic  has  outlived  the  poet,  having  received  at  his 
hands  many  gifts  which  he  has  not  allowed  to 
perish.  "  In  youth,"  he  says,  "criticism  is  concealed 
beneath  art  and  poetry ;  for  when  it  would  advance 
alone,  poetry  and  exaltation  too  often  mingle  with 
and  disconcert  it.  It  is  only  when  poetry  is  to 
some  degree  dissipated  and  clarified  that  the 
second  perspective  reveals  itself  and  analysis  glides 
in,  insinuating  itself  everywhere  and  under  all 
forms  of  talents."  Indeed,  "  the  critic  finally  in- 
herits the  greatest  and  most  naive  of  our  other 
qualities."  Sainte-Beuve's  life-work  never  entirely 
eradicated  his  poetical  vocation ;  he  applied  it  to 
*'  watering  the  secret  sources  of  literary  history,"  to 
lighting  up  analysis,  not  by  "  inward  sentimen- 
talism  or  ill-timed  transports,"  but  by  "a  certain 
artistic  form,  a  certain  vivid  lucidity  and  justness 
of  expression."  The  study  of  men  and  things 
moderated  his  "  poetical  spirit "  without  stifling 
it.  "  However  calm  and  critical  we  become,"  he 
wrote  ten  years  after  having  renounced  verse,  "may 
we  never  refuse  to  exclaim  with  the  poet,  — 

*  Me  juvat  in  prima  coluisse  Helicona  juventa.'  " 

Still  later,  when  the  flame  dies  out,  when  emotion 
and  enthusiasm  finally  yield  to  "physiology,"  he 
ascribes  to  the  poetical  spirit  his  power  of  per- 
ceiving and  expressing  the  sense  of  things,  of 
"  rendering  the  particular  quality  and  just  value  of 
everything  he  touches." 

"  I  wished  to  introduce  a  little  charm  and  more 
realit}'-  than  formerly  into  criticism,"   says   Sainte- 


284  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Beuve.  If  this  charm  consists  in  a  discreet,  mod- 
erate poetry,  the  more  vigorous  impression  of 
reaHty  proceeds  from  the  love  of  positive  sciences 
which  Joseph  Delorme  associated  with  that  of 
poetry.  It  even  invades  his  elegies  while  waiting 
to  lead  him  to  the  analysis  of  literary  works  con- 
sidered as  an  instrument  of  moral  physiology. 
Sainte-Beuve's  early  education  had  been  exclusively 
scientific.  "I  began  bluntly  and  frankly  with  what 
was  most  advanced  in  the  eighteenth  century." 
And  wherever  his  curious  mind  might  afterwards 
lead  him,  through  whatever  metamorphoses  he 
might  pass,  his  "  real  basis  "  lies  in  this  early  train- 
ing. "With  my  pen,"  he  wrote  in  1836,  "criti- 
cism risks  becoming  a  species  of  dissection." 

His  method  is  thoroughly  practical.  It  does  not 
assume  the  form  of  a  system  conceived  at  one  time; 
he  has  evolved  it  by  degrees  from  his  successive 
studies.  It  has  nothing  of  the  inflexibility  of  geom- 
etry, but  can  be  modified  and  varied  according 
to  the  subject  treated.  For  this  reason  has  he  so 
often  been  accused  of  having  no  rule  and  being 
guided  only  by  chance.  Sainte-Beuve  defended 
himself  against  this  unmerited  censure  when  a 
mind  not  less  exact  but  more  systematic  condensed 
into  strictly  deduced  propositions  the  method  which 
he  employed,  in  so  doing  avoiding  a  rigor  little 
suited  to  the  complex  science  of  minds.  In  1828 
he  indicated  the  general  features  of  this  new  criti- 
cism, which  he  applied  without  repetition  or  retrac- 
tion until  the  close  of  a  career  then  but  scarcely 
begun.     In  an  article  upon   Corneille,   he  had  al- 


Criticism.  285 

ready  insisted  upon  what  was  agreeable  and  at  the 
same  time  profitable  in  the  carefully  compiled 
biographies  of  great  writers ;  asking  not  dry,  scanty 
sketches,  but  full,  broad,  and  sometimes  even  dif- 
fuse histories  of  the  man  and  his  works.  With  the 
aid  of  such  biographies,  he  would  have  the  critic 
enter  into  the  author,  install  himself  there,  repro- 
duce him  under  his  various  aspects,  follow  him  in 
his  inner  life  and  domestic  habits,  in  all  that 
attaches  him  to  earth,  to  real  life,  —  that  every-day 
existence  upon  which  great  men  depend  no  less 
than  others.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to 
general  indications  :  he  notes  the  proper  moment  to 
study  a  writer,  namely,  that  of  his  first  masterpiece. 
He  signals  three  principal  influences,  each  of  which 
acts  upon  his  character  and  works, —  the  general 
condition  of  letters  during  his  epoch,  the  particu- 
lar education  he  has  received,  the  peculiar  genius 
with  which  he  has  been  endowed.  Does  not  this, 
in  fact,  outline  the  Positive,  "  Natural  "  criticism 
which  is  destined  to  become  more  and  more 
closely  defined  and  illustrated  ? 

Thirty  years  later,  Sainte-Beuve  details  the  rules 
which  he  followed  from  the  outset  without  either 
being  enslaved  or  parading  them.  Let  us  observe 
the  general  spirit  of  his  criticism  and  his  manner  of 
procedure.  First,  he  selects  an  eminent  writer,  con- 
sidering him  in  respect  to  his  birthplace,  race,  and 
ancestors  when  these  deep  roots  can  be  discovered ; 
when  this  is  impossible,  in  respect  to  his  relatives, 
especially  his  mother,  sisters,  brothers,  and  even 
his  children,  in  fact,  all  those  of  his  blood  who  rep- 


286  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

resent  his  nature  in  its  simple,  unfinished  state. 
After  this  comes  the  chapter  upon  his  education. 
A  necessary  point  to  be  ascertained  concerns  the 
first  group  of  friends  and  contemporaries  which  sur- 
rounded the  poet  at  the  time  his  talent  matured.  Each 
work,  examined  in  this  way,  acquires  its  true  mean- 
ing after  having  been  restored  to  its  original  setting 
by  the  circumstances  which  saw  its  birth.  Only  by 
doing  this  are  we  enabled  to  discover  its  true  degree 
of  originality  or  imitation.  It  is  not  less  important 
to  note  the  moment  when  his  talent  deteriorates  or 
deviates;  the  moment  when  some  authors  become 
rigid  and  withered,  when  others  slacken  and  aban- 
don themselves,  when  still  others  become  hardened 
and  embittered.  Finally,  in  order  to  comprehend 
the  whole  man,  he  cannot  be  considered  from  too 
many  points  of  view ;  we  must  apply  to  him  a  cer- 
tain number  of  questions,  though  they  may  seem 
quite  foreign  to  his  style  and  works :  what  was  his 
attitude  towards  religion?  how  did  nature  affect 
him  ?  how  did  he  regard  women  and  money .?  was 
he  rich  or  poor  ?  what  were  his  daily  habits  and  diet.? 
what  was  his  vice  or  weakness  t  Last  to  be  observed, 
is  the  moral  posterity  of  his  talent,  his  admirers  and 
disciples;  also  his  antipathies  and  the  enemies  he 
involuntarily  makes.  It  early  became  natural  to 
Sainte-Beuve  to  proceed  according  to  this  method, 
never  ceasing  to  follow  and  vary  it  with  his  subjects. 
He  defined  it  but  once  late  in  life,  in  answer  to  those 
who  only  found  him  amusing,  or,  acknowledging  him 
a  good  critic,  condemned  _him  for  judging  without 
rules. 


Criticism.  287 

To  be  a  disciple  of  Bacon  appeared  to  him  quite 
in  the  spirit  of  the  times,  being  also  an  excellent 
condition  for  criticism.  To  him  the  production  of 
mind  is  not  distinct,  or,  at  least,  separable  from  the 
rest  of  man  and  his  organism.  Literature  naturally 
leads  to  the  study  of  morality,  and,  consequently,  to 
that  of  physiology.  The  science  of  characters,  ethol- 
ogy, is  still  elementary,  and  limited  to  the  description 
of  individuals,  or,  at  most,  to  a  few  species.  It  is  at  the 
point  where  botany  was  before  Jussieu,  comparative 
anatomy  before  Cuvier,  —  at  what  might  be  called 
its  "  anecdotical  "  phase.  Though  still  restricted  to 
the  amassing  of  detailed  observations,  it  discovers 
necessary  afhnities,  at  the  same  time  preparing  the 
way  for  the  determination  of  those  great  natural 
divisions  which  will  represent  different  families  of 
minds.  Sainte-Beuve  well  knows  that  what  has 
been  done  for  plants  and  animals  can  never  be  ac- 
complished for  man;  he  does  not  suppress  in  the 
human  being  that  moral  liberty  which  supposes  a 
great  variety  of  possible  combinations.  When  ne- 
cessary, he  reminds  those  who  are  likely  to  forget 
that  the  problem  is  insoluble  in  its  final  analysis, 
that  the  "  most  personal  part  of  man  "  will  always 
escape  science ;  that  it  will  never  attain  that  spark  of 
genius  over  which  its  most  exact  methods  have  no 
hold.  Because  the  peculiar  individuality  of  genius 
will  always  be  hidden  from  us  is  no  reason  for  dis- 
continuing observations  which  enable  us  to  gird  the 
problem  closer. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  giving  a  positive  direction 
to  criticism,  it  must  not  become  a  science  without 


288  Literary  Movenie^it  in  France. 

its  special  art,  —  a  science  that  any  one  may  apply 
by  learning  and  following  its  method  and  rules.  It 
will  always  remain  an  art  demanding  an  artist's  skill. 
Poetr)^  cannot  dispense  with  the  poet's  talent ;  moral 
observation  also  requires  a  particular  faculty,  a  gift, 
a  natural  vocation. 

This  faculty  constitutes  Sainte-Beuve,  above  all 
others,  the  critic  of  our  century.  He  has  been  cen- 
sured for  his  lack  of  enthusiasm,  which  is  equivalent 
to  commending  him  for  having  broken  with  that 
insipid  criticism  of  exclamation  points  in  place  of 
analyses.  He  is  certainly  not  without  his  note  of 
admiration ;  no  one  is  his  equal  in  the  delicate  refine- 
ment of  his  literary  pleasures.  He  has  been  con- 
demned for  comprehending  the  whole  individual  in 
his  decisions;  this  is  because  he  rightly  considers 
simple  views  doubtful.  He  has  been  reproached 
with  giving  too  much  attention  to  the  more  insig- 
nificant sides  of  character,  with  having  pushed 
curiosity  to  indiscretion ;  but  characteristic  details 
and  telling  anecdotes  teach  us  more  about  a  man 
than  academical  generalities  or  the  most  imposing 
"  considerations." 

Distrust  of  the  absolute,  mobility,  and  flexibility 
are  Sainte-Beuve's  distinctive  traits,  as  are  they  those 
also  of  the  truly  critical  mind.  Joseph  Delorme 
had  formerly  compared  the  critical  spirit  to  a  broad, 
clear  river  winding  and  unrolling  itself  about  works 
of  art.  "  While  the  tower  scorns  the  valley,  and  the 
valley  the  shore,"  he  writes,  "  the  river  passes  from 
one  to  the  other,  comprehending  and  reflecting  both." 
Sainte-Beuve  has  comprehended  and  reflected  every- 


Criticism.  289 

thing.  The  first  part  of  his  career  was  one  long 
series  of  experiences.  He  has  himself  said  that  he 
possessed  the  mind  most  broken  and  wrenched  by 
metamorphoses.  He  began  by  physiology,  became 
one  of  Jouffroy's  most  fervent  disciples,  passed 
through  Saint-Simon's  school,  allowed  himself  to  be 
captivated  by  Catholic  mysticism,  yielded  to  Vinet's 
austere  Protestantism.  Finally  he  returned  to  his 
starting-point,  after  having  exhausted  the  successive 
studies  through  which  his  "curiosity  and  desire  to 
know  and  examine  everything,  his  pleasure  in  discov- 
ering the  relative  truth  of  all  things,  had  led  him." 

To  him  the  triumph  of  criticism  is  to  place  him- 
self at  the  author's  point  of  view,  and  read  all  works 
in  the  spirit  which  dictated  them.  For  more  than 
forty  years  he  read  every  variety  of  subject,  bringing 
to  the  study  of  men  and  their  works  a  faculty  of 
assimilation  as  easily  adapted  to  Pascal  and  Gavarni 
as  to  Ballance  and  Stendhal.  Borrowing  one  of  his 
own  expressions,  we  can  truly  say  that  he  resembled 
the  vismara,  an  Indian  butterfly  which  takes  its  color 
from  the  plant  upon  which  it  lives.  In  addition  to 
this  marvellous  gift,  he  possessed  all  the  natural 
qualities  of  taste,  judgment,  and  moderation  which 
combined  to  make  him  one  of  the  most  finished  of 
men  of  letters.  His  style  is  capable  of  expressing 
the  most  imperceptible  shades  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing. He  carries  his  solicitude  for  material  accuracy 
even  into  the  slightest  details,  and  moral  fidelity  to 
its  most  subtle  distinctions.  Not  even  his  detractors 
can  dispute  his  literary  probity.  For  all  new  efforts 
and  promises  of  talent,  he  has  an  ever-ready  sym- 

19 


290  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

pathy,  as  cordial  as  it  is  intelligent.  This  explains 
why  he  is  not  only,  above  all  others,  the  critic  of  the 
century,  but  the  personification  of  criticism  consid- 
ered as  a  keenly  analytical  science  as  well  as  the 
most  refined  of  arts. 


The  Novel.  291 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    NOVEL. 

WITH  the  initiators  of  our  century  the  novel 
was  visionary  in  its  action  and  thoroughly 
ideal  in  its  characters.  First  Jean-Jacques,  then 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand,  adapted  it  to 
the  expression  of  their  personal  sentiments.  La 
Nouvelle  Heloise,  Corznne,  and  Rene  are  all  "  subjec- 
tive "  works  of  passion,  in  which  personal  inspiration 
plays  a  greater  part  than  observation.  Their  authors 
place  before  us  imaginary  personages  turning  easily 
to  types,  heroes  to  whom  they  impart  their  souls 
and  confide  all  their  lyrical  outpourings.  Rousseau 
has  pictured  himself  as  he  would  have  liked  to  be  in 
Saint-Preux;  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand 
idealize  themselves  in  Corinne  and  Rene.  For  them 
the  novel  is  a  sort  of  public  confession,  in  which 
they  unreservedly  expose  themselves.  This  "sub- 
jectivity," which  should  be  considered  as  a  charac- 
teristic feature  of  the  impulse  which  they  have  given 
to  our  century,  is  not  less  marked  in  the  novel  than 
in  all  other  literary  styles.  Romanticism  here  first 
displayed  that  exaltation  of  the  inner  life  which  it 
first  carried  into  lyrical  poetry  and  finally  into  the 
theatre. 


292  Literary  Movemeiil  in  France. 

Considered  a  frivolous  diversion  by  the  ancients, 
as  also  even  by  our  own  Classical  age,  the  novel  had 
therefore  escaped  the  rules  and  definitions  of  a  criti- 
cism not  deigning  to  give  it  attention.  Only  fifty 
years  ago  Villemain  scarcely  dared  include  it  in  his 
history  of  literature,  at  least  only  admitting  it  in 
Greek.  It  is,  moreover,  a  style  which  lends  itself 
naturally  to  all  tones  and  all  subjects ;  so,  when 
favored  by  social  conditions,  it  was  destined  to  as- 
sume the  most  diverse  forms  and  reflect  the  mani- 
fold aspects  of  the  modern  soul.  As  there  is  no  idea 
or  sentiment  of  the  nineteenth  century  that  has  not 
found  expression  through  it,  so  there  is  no  school  of 
importance  which  has  not  attempted  to  renew  it  in 
accordance  with  its  own  particular  views,  no  con- 
ception of  art  to  which  it  may  not  be  adapted.  It 
had  first  been  an  effusion  of  personal  sensibility. 
Later  it  was  applied  to  reviving  the  characters,  man- 
ners, and  costumes  of  past  ages.  Leaving  history 
for  contemporary  society,  without  changing  its  form 
it  finally  separated  into  two  distinct  schools,  corre- 
sponding to  two  irreducible  tendencies  of  the  mind. 
The  one,  observing  real  life  through  the  medium  of 
an  imagination  touched  by  beauty,  virtue,  happiness, 
gave  a  picture  always  idealized  even  in  its  truth ; 
the  other,  armed  with  a  keen,  penetrating  analysis, 
aimed  to  see  life  as  it  is  and  represent  it  as  found. 

We  know  how  Romanticism  renewed  history. 
In  this  general  movement  of  minds  towards  histori- 
cal studies  concurred  on  the  one  side  an  investiga- 
tion of  monuments  by  a  scholarly  analysis  heretofore 


The  Novel.  293 

unknown,  on  the  other  a  power  of  divination,  not 
content  with  purely  material  exactitude,  which  gave 
color,  animation,  and  even  the  accent  of  life  to  an- 
cient scenes.  While  historians  confined  themselves 
to  events  permitting  of  no  alteration,  the  novelists 
who  transported  their  subjects  to  more  or  less  dis- 
tant epochs,  could  make  use  of  all  their  picturesque 
elements  by  applying  the  inventive  faculty  to  events 
and  characters.  The  historical  novel  as  conceived 
by  the  generation  of  1830  greatly  resembled  Roman- 
tic history  as  treated  by  the  descriptive  school :  it 
had  been  announced  by  les  Recits  merovingiens,  just 
as  the  historical  drama  had  been  foreshadowed  by 
les  Scenes  de  la  Ligue.  Is  not  that  poem,  les  Martyrs, 
which  revealed  to  Augustin  Thierry  his  vocation, 
a  veritable  romance  .f*  Recalling  with  what  trans- 
ports of  enthusiasm  the  author  of  la  Conqnete  de 
r Angleterre  celebrated  Walter  Scott,  are  we  not 
tempted  to  assert  that  the  masters  of  our  first  his- 
torians were  novelists.? 

In  place  of  seeking  its  subjects  and  heroes  from 
contemporary  society,  the  novel  first  found  them  in 
the  history  of  past  ages.  The  novelists  of  those 
times  are,  above  all,  poets  whose  souls  feel  the  need 
of  escaping  from  real  life,  of  portraying  more  bril- 
liant costumes  and  more  energetic  passions,  of 
evoking  from  the  perspective  of  a  distant  age  those 
sublime  dreams  which  are  so  little  in  touch  with 
the  commonplaces  of  contemporary  surroundings. 
Romanticism  willingly  transports  itself  in  time  as 
well  as  in  place.  It  escapes  ambient  inanities  by 
jumping  several  hundred  years  as  easily  as  several 


294  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

hundred  leagues.  It  seeks,  sometimes  from  remote 
epochs,  sometimes  from  exotic  civilizations,  that 
marvellous  element  that  appeals  to  the  imagination, 
those  captivating  settings  by  which  extraordinary 
events  and  superhuman  personages  are  framed.  It 
is  not  a  chance  coincidence  that  the  three  principal 
representatives  of  the  historical  novel  are  the  three 
poets  who  founded  the  modern  drama,  —  Vigny, 
Hugo,  and  Dumas.  Of  course,  each  of  these  styles 
has  its  special  conditions  and  necessities ;  however, 
notwithstanding  their  diversity  of  method,  each  seeks 
to  realize  the  same  ideal.  With  its  outbursts  of  fer- 
vent sentimentality,  need  for  strong  emotions,  disdain 
for  reality,  and  aversion  to  analysis,  Romanticism  is 
found  in  both  styles.  We  must  not  expect  accu- 
rately traced  characters,  justness  of  tone,  or  the  truth 
of  delicate  shades  from  the  historical  romance. 
Almost  always  travestied  by  ignorance  or  supersti- 
tion and  falsified  by  the  strife  for  effect,  it  rarely 
gives  us  a  faithful  picture  of  time  and  place.  If  its 
action  be  interesting,  its  characters  lifelike,  its  pas- 
sions eloquently  expressed,  we  willingly  consent  to 
close  our  eyes  to  the  anachronisms  of  manners  and 
characters,  as  well  as  language,  inevitable  in  this 
sort  of  novel. 

Cinq-Mars  owed  its  success  to  its  dramatic  action, 
to  the  interest  of  the  figures  placed  before  us,  and 
above  all  to  its  beauty  of  style,  charm  of  description, 
and  finish  of  detail.  Alfred  de  Vigny  perverts  his- 
torical characters,  and  exaggerates  them  to  suit  his 
purposes,  in  order  the  better  to  accentuate  their 
physiognomy.     To  the  fault  of  not  being  those  of 


The  Novel.  295 

history,  his  heroes  also  possess  the  greater  defect  of 
not  being  true  men.  He  constructs  them  upon  an 
idea.  Richelieu  represents  ambition ;  De  Thou,  the 
typical  friend.  Secondary  actors  escape  abstraction 
only  to  become  caricatures.  Father  Joseph  and 
Laubardemont  are  gratuitously  vile  and  grotesque. 
Not  that  their  author  lacks  knowledge  of  the  times 
of  his  subjects;  before  beginning  Cinq-Mars  he 
had  "read  by  lamplight  three  hundred  volumes  of 
manuscripts."  This  scrupulously  accumulated  in- 
formation was  rather  detrimental  than  otherwise. 
Bent  upon  losing  none  of  the  characteristic  features 
furnished  by  his  reading,  he  has  distorted  history 
by  overcharging  his  characters  and  forcing  the  nat- 
ural setting  of  actions.  This  meditative  poet  pos- 
sessed the  sense  of  historical  reality  no  more  than 
that  of  contemporary  reality.  The  poetry  of  Cinq- 
Mars  is  always  admirable,  but  it  is  stiff,  forced,  and 
formal  as  an  historical  picture,  and,  still  worse,  super- 
ficial and  artificial  as  a  work  of  human  truth,  except 
in  two  or  three  episodic  scenes  in  which  art  is  hap- 
pily conciliated  with  nature. 

In  Notre-Dame  de  Paris  Victor  Hugo  displayed 
all  the  vigor  and  power  of  his  poetic  imagination. 
Several  years  previously  and  not  without  doing  jus- 
tice to  Walter  Scott,  who  had  recently  published 
Quentin  Durivard,  he  expressed  his  own  views  con- 
cerning this  style  of  novel.  To  the  prosaic  novel 
drawing  its  subjects  and  characters  from  regions 
familiar  to  experience,  he  opposes  another  which  he 
has  conceived  on  a  grand  scale.  Scornful  of  medi- 
ocrity, this  novel  seeks  the  extraordinary  from  dis- 


296  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

gust  for  the  usual,  and,  rather  than  pursue  mean 
truth,  would  attain  that  higher  truth  which  proceeds 
less  from  observation  than  from  intuitive  synthesis. 
Notre- Dame  de  Paris  realizes  the  poet's  ideal  in  the 
symbolical  character  of  its  personages,  in  what  is 
exceptional  in  its  sentiments,  fantastic  in  its  adven- 
tures, and  most  especially  in  the  always  nearer  vision 
of  an  implacable  fatality  brooding  over  the  entire 
work  before  bursting  out  in  a  final  catastrophe. 

Here  the  poet  has  employed  his  rarest  qualities 
of  invention  and  composition  ;  he  has  known  how  to 
render  exquisite  refinement  of  sentiment  as  well  as 
the  fervor  of  carnal  passions.  Among  sinister  and 
grimacing  masks,  he  has  evoked  a  figure  whose 
sweetness,  grace,  and  ideal  charm  light  up  with 
one  ray  the  sombre  vaults  of  the  Gothic  nave.  To 
the  vivid  comprehension  of  national  antiquity,  he 
has  added  a  ripe  knowledge  of  the  human  soul,  the 
glowing  magic  of  style,  and  the  gift  of  imparting  life 
to  things  and  beings,  besides  what  is  most  philo- 
sophical in  irony  and  most  fervent  in  enthusiasm. 
Indeed,  these  so  diverse  faculties  of  a  genius  rich 
and  fertile  above  all  others  have  made  Notre-Dam,e 
a  wonderful  epopee  of  the  middle  ages  and  Gothic 
art,  symbolized  in  the  cathedral,  both  its  inspiration 
and  the  central  figure  of  the  work. 

In  Dumas'  novels,  as  in  his  dramas,  there  is  noth- 
ing historical  but  their  names  and  costumes.  He, 
moreover,  brings  to  his  vast  compositions  verve, 
boldness,  fertility  of  imagination,  facility  in  narra- 
tive, movement  in  dialogue,  vivacity  of  humor,  and 
ardor  of  temperament.     So  many  marvellous  gifts 


The  Novel.  297 

would  have  made  his  name  equal  the  greatest  of  our 
century,  had  they  not  been  compromised  by  his 
heedless  prodigality,  had  he  not  too  often  sought 
the  mortal  triumphs  of  fame.  In  his  novels  as  well 
as  in  his  dramas  he  placed  limitations  upon  history. 
He  sacrificed  his  writer's  conscience  to  a  vulgar 
public  taste,  and  the  need  of  money  gradually  made 
a  "  crude  manipulation  "  prevail  over  "  artistic  con- 
trivance." He  might  have  been  one  of  our  greatest 
novelists ;  in  reality  he  was  but  the  most  popular  of 
entertainers,  the  king  of  the  serial. 

The  uncouth  inventions  of  serial  writers,  their 
perpetual  entanglements  and  anachronisms,  brought 
into  evidence  the  perils  of  a  style  so  subject 
to  falseness.  George  Sand  withdrew  the  novel 
from  the  field  of  historic  fantasy  and  a  quite 
conventional  middle  ages  to  find  its  materials  in  the 
manners  and  passions  of  contemporary  life. 

Although  she  refused  to  burden  her  spontaneous 
genius  with  formulas,  and  refrained  from  taking 
part  in  the  great  literary  quarrel  of  the  century, 
George  Sand  none  the  less  belonged  to  Romanticism, 
considered  as  a  general  condition  of  the  soul  rather 
than  as  a  systematic  conception  of  art.  Like  all 
the  poets  of  her  time,  George  Sand  is  essentially 
"lyrical."  She  introduces  the  best  of  herself  into 
her  creations.  She  neither  admits  nor  understands 
how  it  can  be  possible  for  an  author  to  be  dis- 
interested in  his  work.  When  the  close  of  her 
career  brings  her  into  relation  with  novelists  who 
aim   at    "  impersonality,"    she    rebels    with    all    her 


298  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

energy  against  a  theory  so  contrary  to  her  instincts. 
An  impassive  art  can  never  mean  anything  more 
than  egotism  to  her;  rising  up  against  the  new 
doctrine,  she  defends  hu7nanity,  which  is  in  dan- 
ger of  being  annihilated  by  "Hterature."  In  her 
moral  exaltation,  one  of  the  signs  of  her  times, 
and  in  all  that  is  vibrating  and  passionate,  she 
belongs  to  Romanticism ;  so  also  in  that  senti- 
mental, romantic  idealism  which  is  the  basis  of 
her  nature.  George  Sand  delights  in  the  extraor- 
dinary; she  endows  her  heroes  with  all  the  great 
qualities  towards  which  she  feels  herself  drawn. 
To  reproduce  the  real  is  no  concern  of  hers; 
less  apt  in  analysis  than  in  invention,  she  instinc- 
tively gives  form  to  the  dreams  of  her  imagination 
and  the  outpourings  of  her  heart. 

In  order  to  be  comprehended,  her  entire  works 
must  be  referred  to  sentiments.  Three  sources 
of  inspiration,  after  having  been  united  in  the 
beginning,  each  dominated  during  one  period  of 
her  career,  —  first,  love,  then  humanity,  finally 
nature. 

At  Nohant  she  is  haunted  by  the  reveries  of  a 
solitary  and  precociously  reflective  childhood ;  dur- 
ing a  critical  period  by  accesses  of  mysticism  exalt- 
ing both  brain  and  senses.  Then  follow  several 
years  of  purposeless  existence  with  no  other  food 
for  her  mind  than  adventurous,  disconnected  read- 
ing, from  which  she  retains  only  what  appeals  to 
her  effervescent  sensibility  and  romantic  disposi- 
tion. After  a  short  union  with  a  husband  accepted 
without  love,  whose  vulgar  tastes  offend  her  refined 


The  Novel.  299 

instincts,  after  all  the  mortifications  of  an  ill-assorted 
marriage,  there  is  a  rupture  which  delivers  her 
expansive  soul  to  every  temptation.  All  this  suffi- 
ciently explains  why  George  Sand  makes  her  ap- 
pearance in  literature  with  cries  of  passion,  why 
her  first  novels  are  the  apotheosis  of  love  conceived 
as  a  mystic  ideal,  the  ardent  condemnation  of 
social  prejudices  sacrilegiously  opposed  to  divine 
summons.  Indiana,  the  wife  of  a  brutal,  egotistical 
dotard,  finds  happiness  in  the  affection  of  one  who 
unites  tenderness  with  heroism,  for  whom  she  aban- 
dons a  husband's  roof  to  live  in  the  depths  of  a  soli- 
tude which  this  affection  suffices  to  fill.  In  giving 
her  heart  to  Benedict,  Valentine  protests  against 
the  worldly  conventions  whose  victim  she  believes 
herself.  In  yacgues,  the  hero  is  the  husband,  a  man 
who  glorifies  love  by  committing  suicide  in  order  to 
leave  his  wife  free  to  love  the  man  she  prefers. 

The  social  order  which  is  founded  upon  mar- 
riage, and  perverted  and  falsified  by  hypocritical 
proprieties,  is  fatally  destined  to  a  transformation  to 
be  initiated  by  love.  Lelia  accused  society  and 
human  laws  of  having  been  the  cause  of  her  mis- 
fortune ;  Simon  consecrated  the  triumph  of  passion 
over  the  world's  iniquities ;  Ma7iprat  presented  it 
as  a  principle  of  moral  regeneration.  During  the 
second  part  of  her  career  George  Sand  becomes  a 
socialist.  For  ten  years  she  devotes  her  talents  to 
the  cause  of  reformers  who  dream  of  a  new  society. 
No  really  clear  idea  is  evolved  in  these  novels  whose 
characters  develop  humanitarian  theories.  She  has 
not  always  clearly  grasped  the  systems  successively 


30O  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

introduced  to  her  by  her  friends;  she  confounds 
them  all  in  a  vague  dream  of  arcadian  paradise. 
What  is  significant  in  these  novels,  now  out  of  date 
and  no  longer  read,  is  the  passionate  sentiment  of 
human  charit)^  and  infinite  tenderness  for  the 
world's  disinherited  which  breathes  even  through 
the  hollowest  declamations.  She  receives  the  ideas 
of  others,  and  imparts  to  them  the  warm,  sympa- 
thetic radiance  of  a  soul  all  love. 

George  Sand  was  a  "  socialist "  from  the  heart, 
for  with  her  "  socialism  "  was  but  the  devout  dream 
of  a  better  and  happier  humanity.  When  political 
discords  brusquely  overturned  all  her  hopes,  how- 
ever disheartening  the  deception,  it  left  her  no 
bitterness.  In  the  errors  of  men  she  found  but  a 
motive  for  deeper  love.  Rather  than  renounce  her 
ideal,  she  turned  her  eyes  from  the  spectacle  that 
seemed  to  disprove  it,  to  find  it  realized  in  rustic 
souls  whose  natural  candor  is  sheltered  from  all 
contagion.  She  reminds  hardened,  discouraged 
men  that  "  pure  habits,  gentle  sentiments,  and  prim- 
itive justice  still  exist."  Her  scenes  of  peasant  life 
will,  perhaps,  always  remain  her  highest  title  to 
fame.  The  fresh  idyl  of  la  Mare  an  Diable  was 
the  first  fruit  of  this  new  vein.  A  number  of  her 
theoretical  novels,  such  as  le  Meunier  d' Angibault, 
and  the  greater  part  of  her  romances  of  passion, 
Valentine  for  example,  contain  many  pages  of  rural 
poetry  which  had  already  proved  George  Sand  to 
be  an  incomparable  painter  of  nature.  During  the 
third  period  of  her  career  the  author  of  Valentine 
and    le   Meunier   d' Angibault  laid    aside    humani- 


The  Novel.  301 

tarian  rovines  as  well  as  Romantic  declamations  to 
repose  among  scenes  of  rural  simplicity,  refreshing 
the  heart  and  fortifying  faith. 

Even  then  love  did  not  cease  to  represent  to  her 
the  highest  expression  of  the  ideal.  She  had  first 
exalted  what  ancient  times  called  the  rights  of  pas- 
sion ;  then,  she  had  made  love  the  initiator  of  that 
new  society  of  which  she  dreamed;  now  she  seeks 
in  the  heart  of  nature  that  blessed  Eden  where  it 
blooms  freely  like  a  flower  of  the  fields.  At  first 
it  was  love  with  all  its  fevers  and  transports, — 
a  love  that  exalts  and  devours,  reduces  its  victims 
to  suicide,  and  robs  its  elect  of  their  apotheosis. 
Afterwards  it  was  love  conceived  as  a  principle  of 
social  reform,  — a  love  that  throws  rich  chatelaines 
into  the  arms  of  magnanimous  laborers  who  con- 
sent to  marry  them  when  their  castles  have  been 
burned  and  both  are  poor  alike,  —  a  love  that 
triumphs  in  the  glorification  of  the  people  as  repre- 
sented by  some  obscure  hero  who  incarnates  all 
humanity's  grandest  and  noblest  qualities.  Finally, 
when  George  Sand  seeks  the  gentle,  peace-giving 
inspiration  of  rural  scenes,  it  is  the  love  of  innocent 
souls,  —  a  love  without  factitious  exaltation,  but 
with  all  the  spontaneous  refinement,  pure  sweetness, 
and  fresh  tenderness  of  simple  natures. 

To  George  Sand  love  is  a  divine  essence.  It 
contains  happiness,  even  virtue.  She  has  repre- 
sented it  as  superior  to  social  laws  as  well  as  the 
human  will,  not  only  stronger  than  worldly  pre- 
judices, but  also  more  powerful  than  moral  prin- 
ciples,   and,    like    fire,    purifying   all    it   consumes. 


302  Literary  Moveinent  in  France. 

She  began  by  idealizing  it  in  adultery;  she  ended 
by  idealizing  it  in  marriage.  In  her  eyes  it  always 
remained  the  supreme  object  of  life  and  the  highest 
form  of  happiness. 

"  There  is  nothing  strong  in  me  but  the  need  of 
loving,"  she  has  said.  Let  us  not  limit  the  meaning 
of  her  words.  What  is  rightly  called  love  and  that 
"  need  of  loving  "  were  with  her  an  emanation  from 
her  whole  heart,  having  perhaps  one  common 
source.  George  Sand  loved  much.  She  possessed 
charity,  that  virtue  of  virtues  which  opens  the  doors 
of  heaven.  Upon  human  sufferings  she  poured  all 
the  treasures  of  an  inexhaustible  tenderness.  To 
give  her  whole  self  was  her  vocation.  Optimism 
and  idealism  are  but  a  form  of  her  native  gene- 
rosity; she  loved  humanity  so  much  that  she  did 
not  even  see  its  vices  and  deformities.  Kindness 
of  heart  was  the  foundation  of  her  nature ;  she  was 
kind,  and  she  was  so  naturally. 

George  Sand  at  once  gained  full  possession  of  a 
genius  which,  not  having  to  be  sought,  was  hers 
from  the  outset.  There  were  no  gropings,  no  re- 
trievals ;  with  the  first  effort  she  attained  the  per- 
fection of  her  manner.  She  began  to  write  novels 
for  the  purpose  of  earning  her  bread,  and,  without 
having  so  intended,  became  one  of  the  greatest 
writers  of  her  times.  Indolent  and  passive  by 
nature  as  a  child,  she  consumed  herself  in  long 
trances ;  she  seemed  like  an  "  animal."  Those  who 
knew  her  at  the  epoch  of  Indiana,  Valentine,  and 
all  those  tempestuous  romances  that  impassioned 
her  contemporaries  even  to  delirium,  represent  her 


I 


The  Novel.  303 

as  kind,  inert,  with  rather  dull,  mild,  tranquil  eyes 
and  a  wearied,  listless  manner.  She  is  without 
esprit;  she  never  grows  animated;  indeed,  she  seems 
to  be  between  waking  and  sleeping.  She  speaks  in 
a  monotonous  voice,  using  slow,  calm  gestures ; 
there  is  something  automatic  about  her  whole 
person.  George  Sand's  genius  is  instinctive.  All 
but  a  stranger  to  her  own  creations,  she  works  like 
a  somnambulist.  Little  matters  to  her  the  noise 
about  her ;  she  none  the  less  pursues  her  task  with 
calm  security,  as  if  writing  from  the  dictation  of 
some  invisible  master.  She  compares  herself  to  a 
natural  fountain.  Her  intimate  friends  employed 
an  analogous  comparison,  even  more  expressive 
in  its  vulgarity.  "  Suppose,"  said  one  of  them, 
"  that  you  leave  one  of  your  spigots  open,  some 
one  enters,  interrupts  you,  and  you  close  it;  once 
the  visitor  departed,  you  have  only  to  reopen  it. 
That  is  like  George  Sand."  She  assigns  her  daily 
measure,  and  fulfils  it  without  erasing  a  word  or  find- 
ing it  necessary  to  reread  her  work.  Her  novel  is 
finished  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  runs  the 
legend,  and  she  begins  another  in  the  same  breath. 
Composition  can  almost  be  said  to  be  a  purely 
mechanical  function  with  her. 

When  George  Sand  sets  to  work,  she  neither 
knows  nor  does  she  question  whither  her  heroes 
will  lead  her.  Hence  comes  what  is  so  adventurous 
in  the  development  and  unbalanced  in  the  propor- 
tions of  her  works.  They  compose  themselves  as 
she  proceeds;  and  if  this  license  imparts  a  great 
natural  charm,  it  is  to  the  detriment  of  unity,  which 


304  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

can  only  be  guaranteed  by  a  prearranged  plan.  To 
the  lack  of  sequence  in  action  corresponds  a  lack 
of  fixity  in  many  of  her  characters.  It  often  occurs 
that  their  physiognomy  changes.  According  to  the 
demands  of  a  narrative  allowed  to  advance  her  pen, 
as  the  author  proceeds  she  lends  them  characteristics 
which  we  do  not  recognize.  She  can,  above  all,  be 
censured  because  her  characters,  after  having  been 
first  found  in  reality,  degenerate  so  soon  into  im- 
aginative types  formed  upon  an  ideal  model.  Quite 
often  do  we  find  a  far-reaching,  penetrating  psycho- 
logical insight.  For  example,  no  writer  has  more 
clearly  grasped  artistic  natures  with  their  fitful 
vivacity,  instinctive  egotism,  and  puerile  susceptibil- 
ities; no  one  has  more  accurately  rendered  the 
feeble  souls  of  men  who  have  remained  as  children 
unable  definitely  to  attach  their  wills  to  anything; 
no  one  has  expressed  with  so  much  delicacy  that 
mingling  of  maidenly  ingenuousness  and  womanly 
artifice,  malice  and  candor,  provoking  audacity  and 
modest  reserve,  —  that  mysterious  agitation  of  a 
young  girl's  heart  awakened  to  love.  However,  if 
there  are  passages  of  delicate  and  profound  analysis 
in  her  works,  we  must  not  forget  that  her  characters 
are  generally  mental  conceptions  rather  than  men 
of  flesh  and  blood.  Her  novels  do  not  give  the  im- 
pression of  reality.  "  Feuillet  and  I  recount  legends," 
she  confessed  with  good  grace.  And,  comparing  her- 
self to  Balzac,  "You  compose  a  Human  Comedy; 
I  would  write  an  Epopee,  a  Human  Eclogue." 
George  Sand  is  a  poet.  She  observes  much  less 
than  she  reflects;  instead  of  reproducing  the  real, 
she  imagines  the  ideal. 


The  Novel.  305 

Most  of  all  is  her  style  to  be  admired.  She 
did  not  study  her  writer's  craft;  for  her  com- 
position was  a  gift,  not  an  art.  At  the  start  she 
displayed  a  splendid  surety  bordering  upon  the 
miraculous.  She  cannot,  however,  escape  the  re- 
proach of  prolixity  and  diffusiveness.  But  what 
w^ealth  of  movement  and  harmony!  It  is  like  a 
large  river  spreading  out  its  waters  in  even,  trans- 
parent waves.  Her  style  has  a  certain  happy  facility, 
something  ample  and  generous,  a  vivifying  fresh- 
ness, an  abundant  fulness,  the  sweetness  of  milk 
and  honey. 

George  Sand  is  no  longer  read.  What  remains 
of  her }  Her  novels  of  great  passions  proceed  from 
that  exalted  Romanticism  whose  irrevocable  deca- 
dence in  all  styles  is  marked  by  the  middle  of  the 
century.  Her  socialistic  novels  with  their  humani- 
tarian tirades  and  chimerical  optimism  have  long 
since  caused  us  to  smile.  George  Sand's  pastorals, 
however,  those  simple,  touching  histories  of  love 
framed  by  nature,  will  live.  Though  this  incor- 
rigible idealist  has  not  presented  peasants  with  the 
coarseness  and  egotism  attributed  to  them  by  our 
contemporary  novelists,  she  has,  at  least,  preserved 
enough  of  their  native  rusticity  to  make  them  true. 
She  knows  them  from  having  mingled  with  them 
since  childhood ;  she  can  sift  out  what  tenderness 
and  even  moral  distinction  is  concealed  by  their 
rough  exteriors.  Above  all  others  is  she  the  painter 
of  the  fields.  She  has  her  flocks  of  Berry  just  as 
Bernardin  has  his  hills  of  the  Isle  de  France  and 
Chateaubriand  his  virgin  forests  of  the  New  World, 


3o6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Hedges  where  the  flutter  of  wings  is  heard  ;  sinuous 
roads  winding  capriciously  beneath  perpetual  bowers 
of  foliage;  fresh  meadows  where  repose  cows  with 
great  dreamy  eyes;  fertile  fields  gleaming  in  the 
April  sun,  —  this  is  her  true  domain.  Wearied  of 
passions,  deceived  by  Utopias,  she  seeks  refuge  in 
nature,  whence  a  great  peace  comes  over  her  heart. 
It  is  a  perpetual  communion  with  nature;  her 
gentle,  lingering  glance  seems  to  absorb  in  long 
draughts  and  spontaneously  irradiate  its  beneficent 
virtue  about  her. 

The  Realistic  school,  of  which  Stendhal  is  the 
first  representative,  is  directly  opposed  to  George 
Sand.  That  Realism  which  was  to  renew  our  en- 
tire literature  during  the  second  half  of  the  century, 
was  first  introduced  in  the  novel.  If  the  novel  is 
the  literary  form  adapting  itself  most  easily  to  all 
fantasies,  it  is  also  that  best  suited  to  the  portrayal 
of  reality.  Poetry  lives  by  imagination ;  the  theatre 
is  limited  by  certain  laws  of  special  optics ;  it  is  for 
the  novel,  with  full  liberty  as  regards  form,  to  render 
a  faithful  picture  of  life,  as  sincerely  noted  by  a  keen, 
accurate  observer.  In  certain  respects  Stendhal 
belongs  to  Romanticism.  The  Romanticists,  pro- 
moters of  a  renovation  eventually  to  free  art  from 
all  artificial  rules  by  recalling  it  to  nature,  its  sole 
model,  placed  themselves  in  direct  opposition  to 
pseudo-Classicism.  Through  dislike  for  conven- 
tions and  prejudices,  the  author  of  Racine  et  Shake- 
speare first  made  common  cause  with  them ;  he  was 
then  the  most  Impatient  and  advanced  of  revolution- 


The  Novel.  307 

ists.  So  incredulous  a  mind,  however,  could  never 
have  been  in  sympathy  with  its  religious  and  ideal- 
istic restoration;  he  sceptically  witnessed  the  tri- 
umph of  a  lyricism  that  never  meant  more  to  him 
than  hollow  rhetoric  and  false  sentimentality.  He 
mercilessly  condemned  not  only  the  form  of  poetry, 
but  poetry  itself.  Helvetius  and  Destutt  de  Tracy 
are  his  masters.  He  is  a  materialist,  an  atheist. 
Sensation,  physiology,  the  fatalism  of  temperament, 
—  these  are  his  articles  of  faith.  Although  naturally 
sensitive,  he  is  ashamed  of  his  emotions  and  dis- 
guises them  beneath  irony.  To  magnanimous  Ro- 
mantic heroes  he  opposes  his  Julien  Sorel,  a  type 
of  cold  egotism,  a  sort  of  Rolla  without  an  ideal, 
seeking  nothing  but  the  satisfaction  of  a  grasping, 
withering  ambition.  He  holds  the  "  sublime  note  " 
in  such  horror  that  he  forswears  all  metaphors.  His 
style  is  colorless  in  order  to  be  transparent;  it  is 
characterized  by  the  dryness  and  precision  of  a  legal 
document.  Before  beginning  to  write  Stendhal 
always  read  several  pages  of  the  Civil  Code. 

To  observe  the  ego  was  his  "profession."  He  is 
one  of  the  men  who  have  best  known  man.  He 
believes  in  the  ascendancy  of  constitution  and  sur- 
roundings over  people,  and  in  this  is  the  fore- 
runner of  Balzac  and  our  contemporary  novelists* 
Before  all  else  is  he  a  psychologist;  recognizing  the 
impossibility  of  determining  precisely  the  influence 
of  the  physique  upon  morals,  he  turns  all  his  atten- 
tion towards  the  analysis  of  interior  life.  "  I  seek 
to  relate  clearly  and  truthfully  what  passes  in  my 
heart,"  he  has  written.     Stendhal  is  a  moralist,  and 


3o8  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

he  brings  to  the  study  of  sentiments  a  shrewdness 
and  penetration  in  view  of  which  Taine  calls  him 
the  greatest  psychologist  of  the  centur)'. 

He  is  a  great  psychologist,  but  not  a  great  novel- 
ist. He  lacks  the  power  of  creation.  His  details 
are  always  scrupulously  exact,  but  they  do  not  forni 
a  whole.  They  are  features  which,  when  mutually 
consistent,  juxtapose  instead  of  combining,  and 
when  in  contradiction,  as  is  often  the  case,  form  a 
sort  of  heteroclitical  monster.  The  action  of  his 
novels,  being  quite  disconnected,  is  composed  of  a 
series  of  episodes  which  have  no  common  centre, 
and  their  characters  lose  all  individuality  through 
being  dispersed  at  random.  They  are  marvels  of 
observation,  not  living  beings. 

Stendhal  has,  nevertheless,  had  a  great  influence 
upon  the  literary  movement  of  our  epoch.  During 
the  first  half  of  the  century  Merimee  and  Balzac  are 
his  disciples ;  during  the  second,  those  who  lead  the 
campaign  against  Romanticism  claim  him  as  their 
master.  "I  will  come  into  my  success  about  i860 
or  1880,"  he  said.  His  reign  began  as  soon  as  that 
of  Chateaubriand  ended.  If  he  was  not  an  artist  in 
the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  and  although  the 
creative  faculty  of  the  collector  of  psychological 
observations  was  killed  by  analysis,  his  influence 
cannot  be  measured  by  the  intrinsic  value  of  his 
work.  Stendhal's  novels  may  have  been  "detest- 
able," as  Sainte-Beuve  remarked  to  his  fanatical 
admirers,  yet  he  none  the  less  remained  one  of  those 
rare  writers  who  impart  an  impulse  to  the  spirit  of 
their  times.     He  was  the  first  to  react  against  what 


The  Novel.  309 

was  false  and  exaggerated  in  Romantic  art.  He 
led  the  century  back  to  positive  observation.  In 
the  full  triumph  of  intuitive,  visionary  art,  he  an- 
nounced and  prepared  the  retaliation  of  that  experi- 
mental method  which,  according  to  him,  was  to 
renew  all  our  literature. 

"  Stendhal's  ideas  upon  men  and  things  have  sin- 
gularly colored  mine,"  wrote  Merimee.  Between 
these  two  minds  there  were  affinities  that  brought 
them  into  relation,  while  leaving  to  each  his  dis- 
tinctive physiognomy.  What  first  strikes  us  is 
Merimee's  appreciation  of  the  real.  In  joining  the 
ranks  of  Romanticism  he  does  not  surrender  his 
tenacious  originality ;  from  the  beginning  he  refuses 
to  accept  from  it  all  that  is  vague,  uncertain,  and 
declamatory. 

His  preference  for  a  truth  all  nerves  and  muscles  he 
has  carried  even  into  the  historical  novel,  so  favorable 
to  the  glitter  of  local  coloring  and  all  the  revels  of 
the  imagination.  La  Chronique  de  Charles  IX. 
possesses  a  sobriety  in  strong  contrast  with  the 
falseness  and  display  to  be  found  among  the  "fan-^ 
taisistes"  and  "  pittoresques."  This  love  of  truth- 
he  has  even  brought  to  bear  upon  the  marvellous, 
where  his  scrupulous  analysis  gives  us  the  illusion, 
or  what  might  be  called  the  hallucination,  of  reality. 
Merimee  interests  himself  in  facts  only;  and  these 
he  allows  to  speak  for  themselves.  After  wisely 
selecting  them  and  without  interrupting  his  narra- 
tive, he  makes  them  stand  forth  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  disposes  them  and  the  art  with  which  he 


3IO  Literary  Move77tenf  m  France. 

presents  them.  At  a  time  of  exuberant  lyricism  he 
remains  detached  from  his  work.  He  affects  the 
most  disengaged  indifference.  He  does  not  wish  to 
appear  concerned  in  his  characters,  for  fear  of  show- 
ing them  more  interest  than  his  reader. 

That  he  does  not  occupy  a  greater  place  in  the 
literature  of  our  times  is  due  to  his  studied  reserve, 
frigid  attitude,  and  an  excessive  fear  of  ridicule  caus- 
ing him  to  consider  every  evidence  of  sensibility  as 
a  sign  of  weakness,  a  mark  of  deficient  education. 
Merimee  is  before  all  else  a  man  of  the  world  accord- 
ing to  the  English  standard,  correct,  phlegmatic, 
astonished  at  nothing,  and  never  permitting  his  im- 
pressions to  be  betrayed.  The  man  of  the  world 
prevails  over  the  man,  and  very  often  the  "gentle- 
man "  imposes  upon  the  writer. 

He  none  the  less  remains  an  admirable  artist. 
While  inferior  to  Stendhal  as  a  psychologist,  not- 
withstanding the  keenness  of  his  analysis,  he  excels 
him  in  opening  out  and  developing  action,  and  in 
composing  a  work  whose  parts  hang  well  together. 
In  addition  he  possesses  a  "literary"  style,  —  not 
the  style  of  an  algebraist,  but  that  of  an  exact,  self- 
sustained  writer.  He  attains  the  perfection  of  form 
in  his  particular  line.  Nearly  all  his  stories  are 
masterpieces  of  that  rather  dry  and  hard,  though 
forceful,  nervous,  and  pressing  style,  which  consti- 
tutes him  one  of  the  most  original  and  most  charac- 
teristic novelists  of  the  century.  He,  however,  once 
surpassed  himself,  or  rather  swerved  from  his  rigid 
impassibility;  in  Columba,  without  losing  his  dis- 
tinctiv^e  qualities  of  soberness  and  compactness,  he 


The  Novel.  311 

employed  others  from  which  he  had  so  far  too  jeal- 
ously guarded  himself.  Here  we  find  the  most  ex- 
quisite sensibility  mingled  with  the  most  delicate 
irony.  It  is  the  reflection  of  sympathy, — a  gleam 
of  the  ideal,  passing  through  a  harsh,  crude  reality. 

Balzac  is  the  most  complete,  boldest,  and  most 
vigorous  representative  of  that  Realism  of  which 
Stendhal  had  been  the  initiator  and  Merimee  its 
Classical  artist.  Although  Stendhal  had,  as  if  by 
chance,  prepared  the  way,  he  had  left  no  finished 
monument. 

Realism  cannot  be  an  exact  copy  of  the  real  even 
in  the  novel,  since  art  necessarily  infers  two  pro- 
cesses, abstraction  and  idealization,  the  one  as  incom- 
patible as  the  other  with  absolute  reality:  the  first 
eliminates  those  features  which  are  not  significant; 
the  second  affirms  with  more  force  the  significance 
of  those  selected  by  the  artist.  Balzac  may  well 
introduce  into  human  affairs  a  cohesion  little  in 
conformity  with  the  accidents  of  life;  prune  away 
from  reality  all  the  elements  foreign  to  his  purpose ; 
accentuate  and  accumulate  into  powerfully  fore- 
shortened pictures:  these  are  conditions  without 
which  there  is  no  literary  work.  Notwithstanding 
his  abstraction  and  idealization,  Balzac  does  not 
cease  to  be  a  Realist.  It  is  well  to  note  that  no 
novelist,  even  of  the  contrary  school,  has  ever  more 
boldly  employed  these  two  fundamental  artistic 
methods.  Many  of  his  characters  constitute  a  sin- 
gle passion  which  he  exaggerates  even  to  mania. 
Baudelaire  was  astonished  that  Balzac's  fame  rested 


312  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

upon  his  powers  of  observation;  the  great  Realist 
seemed  to  him  a  deluded  being  who  saw  about  him 
only  extraordinary  beings  and  impossible  adventures, 
who  gave  his  own  measure  to  all  the  actors  of  a 
Human  Comedy  in  which  even  porters  possessed 
genius. 

This  love  of  the  romantic  that  makes  the  greater 
part  of  his  work  resemble  the  strange  inventions  of 
such  as  Eugene  Sue  and  Frederic  Soulie,  Balzac 
unites  with  an  irresistible  penchant  for  the  marvel- 
lous, the  supernatural,  and  the  doubtful  sciences  of 
thaumaturgists.  There  is  something  of  a  disciple  of 
Swedenborg,  the  adept  of  Mesmer,  almost  the  dupe 
of  Cagliostro  in  this  painter  of  reality.  His  mind 
is  full  of  chimeras  and  superstitions.  He  seems  to 
see  things  as  in  a  dream.  Forced  from  the  begin- 
ning of  his  career  to  struggle  against  pecuniary  diffi- 
culties, he  passes  his  entire  life  either  in  dreaming 
of  fortune  or  in  pursuing  it  by  enterprises  in  which 
the  business  man  always  falls  victim  to  the  poet  and 
prophet.  He  lives  in  a  fantastic  world.  His  own 
imagination  gives  him  a  species  of  vertigo. 

If,  notwithstanding  this,  Balzac  merits  the  name 
of  Realist,  it  is  because  he  has  preferred  to  describe 
what  is  coarse  and  trivial  in  humanity.  He  once 
said  to  George  Sand,  "Vulgar  beings  interest  me 
more  than  they  do  you.  I  enlarge  and  idealize  them 
in  the  opposite  direction,  in  their  ugliness  and  stu- 
pidity." To  these  "vulgar  beings"  he  adores,  Balzac 
gives  "grotesque  or  formidable  proportions."  Now, 
we  are  so  constituted  that  the  exaggeration  of  evil 
appeals  to  our  credulity  more  readily  than  the  am- 


The  Novel.  313 

plification  of  good.  Hence,  the  word  Realism  was 
diverted  from  its  true  meaning  to  be  applied  to 
works  of  violent  idealization,  in  which  only  man's 
follies  and  perversities  are  idealized.  Realism,  of 
course,  contains  a  special  theory  of  art.  In  Balzac's 
theory  of  art  we  find  a  particular  conception  of  man 
and  the  world,  a  philosophy  directly  opposed  to  that 
by  which  the  Idealistic  school  was  inspired. 

Balzac's  occult  mysticism  does  not  prevent  him 
from  being  a  materialist.  In  spite  of  certain  purely 
official  professions  of  faith,  materialism  is  the  basis 
of  his  philosophy,  just  as  love  of  the  material  in  all 
its  forms  is  the  foundation  of  his  moral  tempera- 
ment. What  does  human  life  represent  to  him .?  A 
career  of  wealth,  and,  through  wealth,  enjoyment. 
He  imagines  society  a  conflict  of  brutal  passions. 
In  reality,  man  obeys  only  his  own  interests.  So 
much  the  worse  for  the  feeble  who  allow  themselves 
to  be  devoured  by  the  strong ;  nature  herself  is 
immoral.  Appetite  is  the  sole  spring  of  universal 
activity.  Balzac's  entire  philosophy  consists  in  the 
divination  of  force.  His  favorite  heroes  know  no 
scruples,  and  are  superior  to  all  conscientious  preju- 
dices. He  calls  his  great  lords  De  Marsay ;  his  con- 
victs, Jacques  Colin.  Whether  Jacques  Colins  or 
De  Marsays,  they  are  "strong  men"  despising  hu- 
manity while  benefiting  thereby. 

Does  good,  then,  find  no  place  in  Balzac's  works  ? 
There  are,  indeed,  honest  characters  among  the  in- 
numerable personages  who  play  the  Human  Comedy, 
but  they  are  almost  always  represented  as  uncon- 
sciously so.     Balzac  does  not  believe  in  moral  lib- 


314  Literary  Alovcmcnt  in  France. 

erty.  He  makes  man  an  irresponsible  agent,  a 
combination  of  blind  forces.  In  his  eyes,  virtue,  as 
well  as  vice,  is  quite  instinctive.  Since  our  instincts 
fatally  tend  towards  the  conservation  and  aggran- 
dizement of  our  being,  he  considers  it  but  one  variety 
of  that  egotism  which  is  the  very  essence  of  human 
nature.  In  Biroteau  it  shows  itself  in  native  stupid- 
ity ;  in  Pere  Goriot  it  represents  a  morbid  affection. 
Balzac's  true  sphere,  and  that  In  which  he  feels  at 
ease,  is  the  world  of  business,  intrigue,  and  scandal, 
where  corrupt  bankers,  disreputable  politicians,  and 
dependent  gentlemen  triumph,  —  the  world  whose 
king  is  a  bohemian,  whose  queen  a  courtesan,  with 
money  for  its  god.  This  conflict  of  cupidity  and 
ambition  arouses  the  lowest  instincts  of  human 
nature.  Launched  in  the  quest  of  power  and  for- 
tune, these  very  instincts  develop  an  energy  of  pas- 
sion in  which  the  vigorous  nature  of  the  novelist 
shows  itself.  Solely  attracted  by  force,  and  with 
no  moral  preoccupation  whatever,  Balzac  makes 
that  force,  which  he  admires  in  itself,  serve  to  further 
the  interests  and  satisfy  the  appetites  of  all  his 
characters. 

This  lack  of  the  ideal  in  his  conception  of 
life  and  society  is  united  with  a  certain  native 
vulgarity.  Massive  and  awkward,  with  strongly 
marked  features  and  a  heavy  voice,  there  was  some- 
thing powerful  but  rough-hewn  in  his  whole  person. 
He  lacks  tact  and  bearing.  He  is  represented 
singing,  gesticulating,  "tapping  his  stomach,"  in- 
capable of  repressing  the  outbursts  of  a  fiery 
temperament,  in   fact,    quite    the    opposite    of   that 


The  Novel  315 

cold,  correct  gentleman  Merimee  was  and  wished  to 
seem.  He  possesses  a  coarse,  jovial  breadth,  a 
thoroughly  candid,  exorbitant  pride.  He  is  a  life- 
loving,  expansive  good-fellow.  He  jests  clumsily, 
and  laughs  loudly  at  his  own  pleasantries.  Every- 
thing is  colored  by  his  personality.  His  Rabe- 
laisian vivacity  vents  itself  in  broad  jokes,  and  his 
coffee-house  philosophy  finds  expression  in  coarse 
apothegms.  There  is  something  of  Gaudissart 
about  him. 

His  works  do  not  belie  this  portrait.  Balzac 
possesses  power,  vigor,  and  incomparable  resources ; 
yet  he  is  without  refinement.  His  fancy  for  great 
ladies  does  not  prevent  him  from  being  radically 
plebeian.  We  here  feel  the  sanctimonious  admi- 
ration of  the  parvenu  dazzled  by  a  mirage  of  aris- 
tocratic splendor  and  elegance.  He  is  lacking  in 
elevation  as  well  as  in  distinction.  If  he  speaks 
slightingly  of  virtue,  he  certainly  treats  marriage  as 
a  business  arrangement,  seeing  in  love  nothing 
more  than  concupiscence.  He  is  a  cynic  frankly 
and  without  being  aware  of  it.  He  materializes 
everything  he  touches,  and  contaminates  the  purest 
emotions  and  sweetest  sentiments.  The  interests 
and  lustful  desires  of  humanity's  lower  feelings  he 
grasps  and  renders  marvellously.  His  comedy  is 
a  species  of  epopee,  but  that  of  a  naturalist  who 
refers  everything  to  physiology,  and  who  has  no 
other  inspiration  than  the  intoxication  of  matter. 

In  this  particularly  does  he  merit  the  name  of 
Realist,  if  we  understand  by  the  "  real  "  that  which 
is  coarsest  and   vilest  in  man.     However,  through 


o 


1 6  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


his  gift  of  observation,  he  possesses  the  further 
merit  of  seizing  the  meaning  of  objects  and  express- 
ing- it  with  extraordinary  relief  and  precision.  The 
delineation  of  surroundings  and  dramatical  setting 
occupies  a  large  place  in  his  works,  quite  easily 
understood  in  a  materialist  in  whose  eyes  man 
fatally  submits  to  the  influence  of  things.  Balzac  is 
scrupulously  exact  in  his  descriptions.  It  was  his 
custom  to  make  a  special  journey  always  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  with  his  own  eyes  the  village  in 
which  he  was  about  to  place  the  action  of  his  next 
novel ;  then  to  seek,  street  by  street,  for  a  house 
which  seemed  to  suit  the  characters  he  wished  to 
place  there.  He  instinctively  grasped  close  affini- 
ties between  people  and  their  environment.  No 
feature  of  local  color  seemed  unimportant ;  even 
proper  names  possessed  signification  for  him.  He 
knew  as  much  of  furniture,  materials,  and  tapestries 
as  an  auctioneer.  He  had  a  passionate  interest  in 
"  bricabraquologie,"  to  quote  from  his  own  words. 
To  his  faculty  of  keen  observation  and  a  prodi- 
gious memory  that  stored  away  the  most  minute 
details  of  exterior  reality,  he  united  that  imagi- 
native power  which  imparts  life.  Beneath  his  pen 
objects  assume  an  expressive  character.  It  is  not 
an  inventory,  but  an  animated,  highly  colored  repre- 
sentation of  material  things,  which  seem  to  associate 
themselves  naturally  with  the  sentiments  of  his 
characters  and  play  their  own  parts  in  the  action. 

Balzac  also  describes  men  with  the  same  exacti- 
tude and  the  same  preoccupation  for  particular 
features.     He  interests  himself  in  all   those  many 


The  Novel.  317 

complex  details  which  give  each  his  characteristic 
physiognomy.  All  alike  bear  the  imprint  of  their 
origin,  temperament,  education,  habitation,  and  the 
infinitely  varied  circumstances  which  have  aided  in 
their  development.  We  have  remarked  that  Bal- 
zac's portrayal  of  characters  was  excessively  ab- 
stract; but  although  his  personages  are,  for  the 
most  part,  moved  by  a  single  passion,  in  analyzing 
that  passion  the  physiologist  brings  to  light  a  host 
of  details  neglected  by  Idealism,  accustomed  to  see- 
ing but  pure  mind  in  man.  Balzac  does  not  rep- 
resent this  passion  in  its  typical  generality,  but  as 
modified  by  particular  circumstances  and  individual 
diversities.  This  is  what  distinguishes  him  from 
Idealistic,  Classical,  or  Romantic  writers;  and  this 
difference  consists  in  considering  man  not  according 
to  Descartes,  but  as  a  disciple  of  Cabanis  and  Geof- 
froy  Saint-Hilaire,  —  not  as  a  moral  force  acting  in 
full  liberty,  but  as  a  slave  to  physiological  condi- 
tions to  which  his  nature  binds  him.  Individualized 
to  this  extent,  Balzac's  characters  live  complete  lives. 
They  are  not  conventional  symbols,  but  real  men; 
and  if  their  physiognomy  is  sometimes  dimmed  by 
a  multitude  of  traits,  this  accumulation  most  often 
imparts  the  effect  of  startling  truth.  We  know 
their  dispositions  and  lives  even  to  the  slightest 
details.  They  stand  out  in  our  minds  with  an 
incomparable  boldness  of  relief.  We  are  persuaded 
that  they  belong  to  real  life,  and  we,  no  less  than 
Balzac,  believe  ourselves  living  in  them. 

In   the   mind    of   its   author,    Balzac's    "  Human 
Comedy"   was   not  a  comedy  of  character  but  of 


3i8  Literary  Movement  in  France, 

manners.  His  ambition  was  to  represent  the  whole 
of  modern  society,  not  to  sum  it  up  in  a  few  figures. 
Although  he  begins  with  the  reality,  he  doubtless 
allows  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  his  imagi- 
nation into  exaggerating  the  features  furnished  by 
observation.  In  his  works  we  find  characters 
magnified  beyond  nature,  and  in  a  certain  sense 
symbolical  despite  what  is  so  markedly  individual  in 
their  portrayal.  They  overstep  their  limits.  Balzac's 
purpose  is  to  represent  contemporary  manners. 
The  figures  which  carry  out  his  design  are  also  those 
of  common  humanity.  He  portrays  his  epoch  in  a 
series  of  pictures  bound  together  by  both  unity  of 
observation  and  the  recurrence  of  the  same  char- 
acters. His  "  heroes,"  his  Goriots  and  Grandets, 
take  strong  hold  of  our  imagination ;  his  medium 
characters,  however,  are  more  real.  In  rendering 
their  foibles,  whims,  little  passions,  and  common- 
place surroundings,  he  has  truly  adapted  his  work 
to  the  complexity  of  life.  In  his  scenes  from 
private  and  political  life,  whether  in  that  of  Paris 
or  the  provinces,  —  in  trade,  finance,  aristocracy, 
the  army,  the  administration  and  magistrature,  — 
we  find  all,  —  actors  and  journalists,  peasants  and 
proletarians,  thieves  and  bandits,  —  the  declasses  of 
all  ranks.  Balzac  embraces  the  whole  society  of  his 
time,  what  is  most  brilliant  upon  the  exterior  of 
civilization  as  well  as  what  is  most  ignoble  beneath 
its  surface,  and  especially  its  intermediary  classes 
with  all  their  multiplex  varieties.  He  has  "  con- 
curred with  the  social  government."  He  has  been 
the    complete    historian    of    half   a    century.     He 


The  Novel.  319 

has  opposed  that  Human  Comedy  which  he  leaves 
to  future  ages  as  a  living  illustration  of  social 
manners  in  different  conditions  of  society,  to 
official  history,  a  dry,  cold  registry  of  exterior  facts 
or  a  vain  metaphysics  transforming  accidents  into 
necessities.  Taine  has  said  that  after  Shakespeare, 
Balzac  was  the  greatest  storehouse  of  documents 
upon  human  nature.  Let  us  not  forget  that  there 
is  something  peculiar  to  time  and  place  in  his 
representation  of  men,  but  rather  name  him  our 
greatest  magazine  of  documents  upon  the  society  in 
which  he  lived. 

What  can  be  most  questioned  is  his  style.  We 
must  not  look  for  the  firmness,  rectitude,  and  de- 
cision of  the  masters.  Balzac  proceeded  by  sound- 
ings, by  successive  retouchings.  He  demanded 
seven  or  eight  proofs,  ceaselessly  correcting,  revis- 
ing, finally  giving  his  copy  to  the  printer  without 
having  found  the  adequate  expression,  forever  de- 
voured by  the  desire  of  a  perfection  which  he 
rarely  attained.  He  is  a  writer  without  measure, 
without  taste,  violent,  troubled,  and  hazardous.  It 
is  but  just  to  condemn  his  lack  of  purity  and  sim- 
plicity, his  incoherences,  his  scientific  phraseology, 
his  blending  of  unexpected  words,  his  trivialities 
and  affectations,  his  confusion  of  discordant  figures, 
pedantic  archaisms,  and  curious  neologisms.  It 
can  easily  be  understood  why  Balzac  is  considered 
anything  but  a  pure  writer  by  those  who  judge  him 
according  to  Classic  traditions.  His  style  is  the 
very  image  of  his  nature,  at  once  brutal  and 
subtle,  vigorous  and   turbulent.     It   admirably   de- 


320  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

notes  what  is  obscure  and  laborious  in  his  teeming 
brain,  and  at  the  same  time  his  vigorous  origi- 
nality and  inventive  force.  It  is,  moreover,  the  only 
style  suitable  to  his  work.  "In  Paris  there  are  only 
three  of  us  who  know  our  language,"  he  said,  — 
"  Hugo,  Gautier,  and  myself."  He  knew  his  lan- 
guage, —  that  is,  that  of  all  his  characters,  of  the 
arts,  trades,  and  sciences.  There  is  no  word  that 
cannot  be  found  in  his  vocabulary,  just  as  there  is  no 
idea,  no  sentiment,  no  object,  that  does  not  find  place 
in  his  works.  Balzac's  style  is  modelled  upon  a 
confused,  complex,  refined  civilization  which  it  was 
impossible  to  render  without  a  medley  of  colors 
and  surcharges.  It  has  its  licentiousness  and 
entanglements,  its  saccades  and  fissures,  its  vio- 
lences and  artifices.  It  is  a  feverish,  overwrought 
style,  bloated  and  cracked,  loose  and  rugged,  all 
seamed  with  scars,  constellated  with  singular  ex- 
pressions, affected  in  both  extremes,  abounding  in 
slang  terms,  technical  words,  and  showy  metaphors. 
Gold  intermingled  with  mire  might  justly  charac- 
terize his  Comedy.  It  is,  indeed,  a  great  human 
masquerade,  an  inextricable  confusion  of  passions 
and  intrigues,  a  hodgepodge,  a  universal  bazaar 
encumbered  with  time-worn  clothes  and  cast-off 
trinkets,  a  pandemonium,  a  gigantic  kaleidoscope 
of  contemporary  life  with  its  innumerable  con- 
glomerations and  infinite  ramifications. 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  321 


5^art  €f)irti. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    EVOLUTION    OF    REALISM. 

ROMANTICISM  found  other  enemies  than  the 
defenders  of  Classical  tradition.  At  the  out- 
set it  came  in  conflict  with  much  more  formidable 
adversaries,  which,  instead  of  supporting  a  literary- 
regime  not  in  sympathy  with  the  existing  social 
conditions,  fought  the  innovating  school  on  its  own 
ground.  While  proclaiming  the  same  device,  they 
interpreted  it  in  a  spirit  more  consistent  with  the 
scientific  tendencies  which  triumphed  during  the 
latter  half  of  the  century.  As  dissenters,  they  had 
witnessed  with  mocking  indifference  both  the  spirit- 
ual awakening  signalized  by  Madame  de  Stael  and 
the  restoration  of  artificial  Christianity  devised  by 
Chateaubriand.  In  philosophy  they  had  remained 
the  disciples  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Truth  and 
nature  had  been  the  decisive  formula  which  the  new 
school  had  inscribed  upon  its  standard.  This  was 
also  their  motto,  but  in  accepting  it  they  opposed 
its  positive  import  to  the  sentimental  idealism  which 
had  inspired  Romantic  poetry.     Scarcely  fifty  j^ears 


32  2  Literary  Movement  i7i  France. 

had  passed  since  the  dawn  of  Romanticism,  when 
it  was  destined  to  receive  the  death-blow  of  fatal 
decadence.  Romanticism  had  been  the  revolt  of 
sentiment  and  imagination  against  analysis.  Less 
than  ten  decades  after  this  thundering  rebellion, 
armed  with  keener  weapons  and  more  exact  meth- 
ods, analysis  demolished  the  glorious  ideal  erected 
by  sentiment  and  imagination  beyond  the  world  of 
facts.  The  Romanticists  had  conceived  art  as  the 
inspiration  of  the  heart,  a  winged  dream  of  fantasy, 
the  magic  of  symbolical  evocation.  Behold  now  how 
the  new  generations  reduce  it  to  the  dry,  cold  dis- 
section of  reality,  a  museum  of  facts,  a  storehouse 
for  documents! 

After  having  vanquished  Classicism,  which  had 
ruled  over  our  literature  for  more  than  two  hundred 
years,  Romanticism  lasted  for  barely  half  a  century. 
But  how  explain  so  sudden  a  decline  after  such  a 
brilliant  triumph  ? 

Classical  art  had  flourished  in  the  heart  of  a  firmly 
based  society,  in  which  each  was  unmolested  in  be- 
liefs common  to  all.  Its  two  centuries  of  existence 
were  a  period  of  universal  security,  during  which  it 
developed  with  regularity  and  in  perfect  accord  with 
the  established  order.  With  these  peaceful  times 
troubled  by  no  tempest,  let  us  compare  that  epoch 
of  our  history  which  begins  with  the  Revolution. 
Its  terrible  crises  passed,  society  seeks  by  repeated 
shocks  to  regain  a  still  unfound  equilibrium.  Now 
no  superior  authority  unites  souls  in  a  common 
faith.  Each  has  his  own  theory  of  government, 
metaphysics,  and   personal   revelation.     Moral   and 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  323 

intellectual  anarchy  is  everywhere  evident.  Ideas 
meet  only  to  clash.  Every  fixed  principle  has  been 
engulfed  in  the  shipwreck  of  the  ancient  social 
regime.  Dynasties  last  but  fifteen  or  twenty  years, 
philosophical  systems  for  a  lesser  time.  Former 
traditions  have  forever  perished,  and  the  quicksand 
sinking  beneath  the  fray  of  minds  offers  no  solid 
basis  for  incoming  traditions. 

How,  indeed,  can  literary  discipline  be  maintained 
when  the  whole  of  society  is  being  shaken  to  its  very 
base?  Wherefore  look  to  the  world  of  letters  for 
that  stability  vainly  sought  in  politics  and  philoso- 
phy ?  In  reality,  there  exists  no  Romantic  school, 
for  every  school  supposes  a  code  of  accepted  rules, 
and  the  peculiarity  of  Romanticism  lies  precisely  in 
recognizing  none.  The  Romanticists  did  not  unite 
in  a  community  of  new  dogmas,  but  in  rebellion 
against  ancient  dogmas.  Joined  in  the  conflict, 
they  dispersed  after  the  victory,  and  the  spirit  by 
which  they  had  been  inspired  blew  whither  it  listed. 
Now,  in  instituting  an  unalterable  hierarchy  of 
styles.  Classicism  had  submitted  each  to  narrow 
observances,  and,  in  deducing  its  principles  from 
what  is  most  constant  in  the  human  mind,  it  had 
sacrificed  movement  to  order,  fancy  to  reason,  and 
proper  to  common  sense.  Romanticism,  on  the 
other  hand,  varied  infinitely  that  ideal  of  beauty 
which  had  been  conceived  by  the  Classicists  as 
an  invariable  model ;  they  substituted  diversity  of 
physiognomy  for  unity  of  type,  and  studied  men,  not 
to  discover  one  species,  but  a  multitude  of  portraits. 
It  was  the  triumph  of  the  particular  over  the  gen- 


324  Literary  Movement  ifi  France. 

eral,  the  retaliation  of  the  ego,  —  that  is,  imagination 
and  sensibility  over  an  exaggerated  rationalism  which 
suppressed  everything  mobile,  vacillating,  capricious, 
in  a  word,  personal.  It  must  be  considered  a  "con- 
dition of  soul,"  rather  than  a  literary  doctrine. 

A  "condition  of  soul"  Victor  Hugo  once  called 
it  when  protesting  against  what  was  too  narrow  in 
the  militant  signification  of  a  word  w^hich  he  never 
willingly  adopted.  It  is,  indeed,  a  "condition  of 
soul ;  "  nothing  could  be  more  exact.  Upon  know- 
ing its  import,  we  will,  doubtless,  have  little  difficulty 
in  comprehending  why  the  Romantic  movement  was 
so  early  exhausted.  Its  essential  characteristic,  con- 
sidered as  a  moral  phenomenon,  is  the  exaltation  of 
all  the  sentient  faculties.  It  is  not  an  even,  durable 
state,  but  a  species  of  transport,  an  access  of  fever, 
an  abnormal  paroxysm  of  the  sensibility.  Like  the 
many  heroes  it  immortalized.  Romanticism  was  also 
destined  to  die  young.  Its  fury  of  passion  being 
soon  devoured,  when  fatigued  in  its  frantic  race  for 
the  ideal,  the  human  soul  was  constrained  to  light 
upon  earth  in  order  to  feel  the  firm  ground  beneath 
its  feet.  A  reaction  was  then  produced.  Passing 
from  science  to  the  arts,  positive  reality  eventually 
brought  about  a  new  epoch  in  the  literary  history 
of  our  century. 

Has,  then.  Romanticism,  with  truth  for  its  watch- 
word, been  faithful  to  its  promises }  Its  many  illus- 
trious names  and  masterpieces  in  all  styles  confirm 
this.  Not  only  did  it  abolish  artificial  rules  and 
superannuated  conventions ;  it  also  regenerated  lan- 
guage, vivified  poetry,  and  reanimated  history,  criti- 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  325 

cism,  and  the  theatre.  The  fifty  years  of  its  existence  ^ 
comprise  one  of  the  most  glorious  epochs  of  our 
hterature ;  according  to  one  of  our  critics  whose 
evidence  cannot  be  doubted,  they  cover  much  more 
than  half  of  a  great  century.  Moreover,  the  Roman- 
ticists looked  within  themselves  and  not  to  external 
objects  for  that  truth  which  they  sought  to  restore. 
To  them  it  was  purely  "  subjective,"  —  not  acquired 
by  disinterested,  impersonal  observation  of  phenom- 
ena, but  inspired  by  that  faculty  of  divination  which 
is  the  very  basis  of  Romanticism.  Too  passionate 
to  express  other  than  their  passions,  they  did  not 
portray  the  human  heart ;  they  sang  of  their  per- 
sonal passions,  of  their  grandiose  dreams,  of  their 
need  of  loving  and  believing,  of  their  vague  aspira- 
tions towards  ideal  happiness,  of  the  fantasies  of 
their  troubled  brains.  For  the  study  of  reality  they 
substituted  intuitive  conceptions.  Intoxicated  by 
the  ideal,  they  lost  consciousness  of  the  sensible 
world.  In  politics,  in  philosophy,  and  in  literature 
they  announced  their  scorn  for  facts;  facts,  at  length, 
claimed  their  revenge. 

The  triumph  of  Realism  over  Romanticism  is  the  / 
victory  of  science  over  imagination  and  sentiment. 
Science  did  not  altogether  escape  the  contagion 
of  Romanticism  ;  it  believed  that  it  might  not  only 
impose  its  formulas  upon  all  natural  phenomena, 
but  also  aimed  even  to  reach  the  very  deepest  roots 
of  being.  Chemistry  and  physiology  confidently 
predicted  the  day  when,  having  finally  penetrated 
the  mystery  of  objective  existence,  man  should  really 
become  master  of  matter  to  mould  and  fashion  it 


326  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

according  to  his  fancy.  But  if  science  also  had  its 
hour  of  vertigo,  it  was  only  after  miraculous  discov- 
eries well  calculated  to  dazzle  the  mind,  —  discov- 
eries which  had  been  made  by  means  of  analysis 
and  computation.  Though  momentarily  deluded 
by  deceptive  ambitions,  it  was  never  tempted  to 
abandon  the  experimental  method,  to  which  it  owed 
its  marvellous  progress,  in  order  the  sooner  to  realize 
its  purposes.  The  imagination  of  savants  may  have 
been  lured  by  illusive  perspectives,  but  the  scientific 
method  maintained  its  activity  upon  the  solid  ground 
of  phenomena.  Moreover,  soon  recovering  from 
their  exaltation,  and  without  renouncing  the  legiti- 
mate aims  of  science,  its  devotees  dispelled  all 
chimerical  anticipations,  and  even  the  thought  of 
mysteries  inaccessible  to  its  methods.  All  Roman- 
tic excitation  disappeared  during  the  latter  half  of 
the  century.  Science  does  not  now  pursue  the 
enigma  of  the  being  within,  but  attempts  to  acquire 
a  more  and  more  exact  and  complete  notion  of  na- 
ture. Its  highest  ambition  is  to  reduce  complex  to 
simple  and  general  facts,  never  questioning  whether 
another  higher  analysis  beyond  that  which  deduces 
laws  from  facts  may  develop  laws  into  a  supreme 
formula  by  which  the  logical  unity  of  the  universe 
may  be  discovered. 

Realistic  evolution,  directed  by  the  scientific  move- 
ment, transformed  philosophy  by  withdrawing  it 
from  generous  but  too  often  sterile  speculations  to 
apply  it  to  the  precise  study  of  phenomena.  Phi- 
losophy either  forbids  the  search  for  causes,  which  it 
considers  beyond  the  sphere  of  comprehension,  or 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  327 

recalls  the  order  of  causes  to  that  of  facts,  —  that  is, 
metaphysics  to  physics.  Spiritualism  had  believed 
causes  to  be  distinct  entities  constituting  an  imma- 
terial world,  of  which  it  considered  our  world  but  the 
interlining;  plunging  into  full  abstraction,  its  meta- 
phors represented  so  many  spirits ;  in  order  to  explain 
the  visible  universe,  it  began  by  emerging  from  it. 
Idealism,  after  having  prevailed  during  the  first  half 
of  the  century,  during  its  second  half  becomes  sub- 
ject to  a  violent  reaction  which  seeks  to  confine  the 
human  mind  to  the  study  of  concrete  realities.  Posi- 
tivism breaks  away  from  all  transcendentalism,  and 
repudiates  equally  the  research  for  initial  and  final 
causes,  maintaining  itself  between  both,  in  reality 
the  true  sphere  of  science.  Positivism  succeeded  the 
theological  era,  which  had  explained  nature  by  the 
supernatural,  and  the  metaphysical  era,  which  had 
replaced  anthropomorphism  by  the  invention  of 
abstract  forces  and  occult  agents.  The  essential 
characteristic  of  the  Positivist  period  consists  in  the 
rigorous  exclusion  of  all  that  does  not  admit  of  em- 
pirical verification.  Positivism  does  not  bring  a  new 
theory.  It  considers  theories  as  imaginings  without 
consistence,  suggested  to  the  human  mind  by  the 
vain  desire  of  artificial  unity.  It  introduces  the 
scientific  method,  the  instruments  of  which  are 
experience  and  observation.  It  banishes  symbols, 
scholastic  entities,  and  limits  itself  to  declaring 
facts.  The  uniformity  between  natural  relations  is 
the  only  system  which  it  concedes  as  legitimate. 

There  is  another  school  which  attempts  to  explain 
the  universe  by  a  single  cause.    According  to  Deter- 


328  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

minism,  this  very  cause  consists  in  a  fact,  and,  by  a 
hierarchy  of  facts  mind  is  able  to  lift  itself  to  the 
supreme.  The  starting-point  of  its  analysis  is  the 
dispersed  multitude  of  phenomena.  These  phenom- 
ena it  ranges  in  a  series  of  groups  which  rise  one 
above  another,  each  higher  group  summing  up  in  a 
formula  the  phenomena  of  an  inferior  group,  until 
the  universal  formula  appears,  itself  being  but  a  sum- 
mary of  the  formulas  which  constitute  the  entire 
world.  Such  a  philosophy  is  opposed  to  both  Spirit- 
ualism and  Positivism,  —  to  the  one  by  seeking  the 
explanation  of  things  in  things  themselves  without 
concerning  itself  with  subjective  conceptions ;  to  the 
other,  by  maintaining  in  opposition  to  it  the  belief 
that  causes  are  not  beyond  reach,  that  scientific 
analysis  can  deduce  them  from  objects.  But  while 
there  exists  an  incompatibility  of  spirit  and  method 
between  this  philosophy  and  Spiritualism,  both  its 
spirit  and  method  are  those  of  Positivism,  from 
which  it  differs  in  aiming  at  without  attaining  a 
more  distant  goal.  Like  Positivism,  it  reduces  man 
to  phenomena  of  conscience,  and  nature  to  phenom- 
ena of  movement.  Neither  in  the  ego  nor  in  the 
non-ego  does  it  find  substance  to  which  the  modali- 
ties can  cling  as  to  a  fixed  principle.  An  indefinite 
succession  of  little  facts  is  all  that  is  real  either 
within  ourselves  or  in  the  world  about  us.  Science 
consists  in  the  notation  and  classification  of  facts. 
Within  as  around  us  they  engender  each  other.  In 
that  soul  which  Spiritualism  constitutes  an  active 
substance,  an  autonomic  agent,  science  can  but  per- 
ceive   the    incessant    flight   of   phenomena,  in    the 


The  Evohttion  of  Realism.  329 

production  of  which  no  will  intervenes.  What 
SpirituaHsm  calls  deliberation  is  but  an  entirely 
mechanical  fluctuation  of  blind  forces.  We  are  no 
more  masters  of  our  action  than  of  our  thoughts  and 
sentiments.  Free  will  is  a  gratuitous  hypothesis, 
in  flagrant  contradiction  with  the  laws  of  nature. 
Thus,  freedom  of  action  exists  neither  in  the  moral 
nor  in  the  physical  world ;  "  vice  and  virtue  are 
products,  like  sugar  and  vitriol." 

The  natural  consequence  of  Determinism  is  the 
abolition  of  what  has  been  called  morality.  There 
are  interests  and  appetites,  but  duty  no  longer  exists. 
The  wisest  consider  life  a  spectacle ;  the  most  active 
and  most  impassioned  look  upon  it  as  a  struggle. 
Idealism  has  lived  out  its  time,  and  a  new  era  has 
begun.  The  distinctive  characteristic  of  this  age 
is  the  supremacy  of  the  fact.  The  Romantic  hero 
devouring  his  own  force  of  feeling,  the  plaintive 
phantom  lacking  energy  for  action,  the  wandering 
soul  afflicted  by  the  infinite,  is  succeeded  by  this 
"strong  man"  exempt  from  all  prejudices  and  supe- 
rior to  all  scruples.  This  type,  conceived  by  Stend- 
hal and  Balzac,  incarnates  the  spirit  of  contemporary 
society.  In  so  wonderfully  increasing  our  power 
over  matter,  science  contributes  still  further  towards 
the  universal  strife  for  wealth  and  pleasure.  Posi- 
tive realities  stifle  the  sense  of  justice,  while  Positiv- 
ism destroys  our  conception  of  the  ideal.  Nothing 
is  left  but  facts  devoid  of  moral  character,  and  art 
conspires  with  philosophy  in  their  glorification. 
While  philosophy  is  determining  their  legitimacy, 
art  is  more  and  more  reduced  to  stating  and  tran- 
scribing them. 


330  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

The  evolution  of  Realism  is  not  less  marked  in 
sociology.  The  Utopian  conceptions  which  imagi- 
nation and  pure  logic  delighted  in  constructing  are 
also  followed  by  the  processes  of  the  experimental 
method.  Socialists  aimed  to  submit  facts  to  mental 
conceptions  and  the  heart's  aspirations.  Not  com- 
prehending that  social  phenomena  are  the  expression 
of  natural  laws,  they  fancied  an  artificial  organization 
in  which  man  can  be  neither  wicked  nor  unhappy. 
In  society  they  found  an  unnatural  condition  which 
they  believed  the  result  of  a  contract.  Why  was 
our  society  bad }  Because  it  had  been  defectively 
constructed.  In  order  to  reconstruct  it,  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  modify  the  social  compact.  Hence  the 
growth  of  innumerable  systems,  some  of  which  have 
remained  in  abstraction,  while  others,  in  attempting 
to  escape  from  it,  have  been  shattered  by  coming 
in  contact  with  concrete  realities.  For  the  Roman- 
ticists of  Socialism,  there  was  a  social  question; 
for  the  Realists,  there  are  social  facts.  Some  pur- 
sued a  supreme  solution ;  they  were  the  alchemists 
of  the  great  work.  Others  substitute  science  for 
social  alchemy,  and  science  teaches  them  that  there 
is  neither  a  philosopher's  stone  nor  a  univer- 
sal panacea ;  that  society  cannot  be  comprehended 
in  a  single  formula ;  that  it  is  not  the  result 
of  an  abstract  covenant  to  be  altered  at  will  by 
a  legislator,  but  a  collection  of  organisms,  bound 
together  by  natural  and,  consequently,  necessary 
relations. 

Educated  ,in  the  school  of  positive  realities,  the 
new   generations    repudiate    the    chivalric,    philan- 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  331 

thropic  ideal  by  which  their  ancestors  were  inspired. 
National  particularism  prevails  more  and  more  over 
humanitarianism,  henceforth  relegated  to  the  ridicu- 
lous. Economists  demonstrate  and  substantiate  the 
solidarity  of  peoples,  between  whom  so  many  paths 
have  multiplied.  This,  however,  is  only  to  the  profit 
of  material  interests  :  the  propaganda  of  ideas  is  suc- 
ceeded by  the  investment  of  merchandise,  the  apostle 
of  fraternity  by  the  commercial  traveller.  Heroic 
times  have  passed.  In  our  relations  with  other 
peoples  utilitarianis7n  prevails  increasingly  over 
sentiments  and  abstract  principles,  and  similar  ten- 
dencies are  not  less  evident  in  state  politics.  The 
two  divine  rights  which  our  fathers  opposed  — 
Monarchism  and  Republicanism  —  have  yielded  to 
another  conception  of  the  State,  exclusively  practical 
and  quite  free  from  all  fanaticism.  We,  of  the  latter 
half  of  the  century,  have  known  but  one  true,  pure 
Royalist,  "  le  Roy ; "  and  he,  forsooth,  only  remains 
'  le  Roy "  for  not  having  reigned.  Divine  mo- 
narchical right  still  has  its  party,  but  no  longer  its 
faithful  partisans ;  it  has  its  prince,  but  is  without 
principles ;  it  was  a  dogma,  now  it  has  but  a  flag. 
Republicans  by  sentiment  and  faith  have  been  suc- 
ceeded by  what  are  called  Republicans  by  reason,  — 
that  is,  Republicans  through  interest.  The  Repub- 
lic had  a  religion  ;  it  had  its  apocalypse,  its  cult,  its 
rites,  its  hymns,  its  missions,  and  its  crusades ;  it 
poured  upon  our  fathers  the  infatuation  of  lyrical 
transports  and  fervent  enthusiasms;  it  symbolized 
the  reign  of  justice  and  human  dignity.  Our  times 
have  formed  a  less  sublime  idea  of  it.     To  us  it  rep- 


332  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

resents  that  government  which  is  best  adapted  to 
actual  necessities,  the  most  simple,  most  convenient, 
and  most  fitly  constituted  to  avoid  ruinous  revolu- 
tions. Political  economy  continues  further  to  oust 
pure  politics.  The  best  government  is  that  which 
assures  the  greatest  confidence,  and  is  most  favor- 
able to  the  development  of  national  interests.  The 
conception  of  the  State  is  losing  all  mystical 
character,  and  the  day  approaches  when  we  shall 
consider  it  no  more  than  a  mutual  insurance 
company. 

Literary  Realism  is  the  expression  of  a  society 
no  longer  believing  in  the  ideal,  and  with  no  other 
religion  than  that  of  facts,  no  other  faith  than  that 
of  the  senses,  no  other  method  than  that  of  obser- 
vation. In  all  styles,  from  lyricism  to  history, 
Romantic  literature  had  been  poetry,  whereas  con- 
temporary literature  is  essentially  prosaic.  Stend- 
hal, Merimee,  Balzac,  and  indeed,  all  the  initiators 
of  Realism,  openly  manifested  their  scorn  for  verse. 
In  the  full  flower  of  Romanticism,  Vigny  represented 
the  poet  who  unwittingly  brutalizes  his  chaste  cult 
of  pure  mind  by  withdrawing  himself,  first  by  volun- 
tary exile,  and  later  by  his  death,  from  a  society 
which  tendered  him  but  indifference  and  contempt. 
The  public  of  1830  permitted  itself  to  be  moved 
by  the  misfortune  of  Chatterton ;  it  pitied  that  ulcer- 
ated soul,  for  whom  the  fatal  result  of  genius  is 
suicide.  When  the  work  is  reproduced  thirty  years 
later,  the  audience  advises  the  poor  devil  "  to  sell 
his  boots." 

Our  age  is  hostile  to  poetry.     Each  day  finds  its 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  333 

sphere  narrowed ;  even  the  theatre  shuns  it.  It  is 
the  language  of  imagination  and  sentiment,  and  ours 
is  an  epoch  of  science  and  criticism.  To  us  the 
poet  seems  a  child  ;  he  plays  with  rhymes,  —  harm- 
less as  an  exercise  and  an  agreeable  diversion,  but 
quite  unworthy  of  maturity.  Many  of  the  writers 
of  our  times  began  by  verse,  but,  once  their  first 
youth  passed,  they  see  in  poetry  nothing  more  than 
idle  trumpery  for  which  their  manhood  should  blush. 
One  of  the  masters  of  our  generation  bluntly  ex- 
presses the  contemporary  Realist's  disdain  for  that 
form  of  art  which  he  calls  "  harmonious  humming." 
"  Content  yourself  with  prose,"  Alexandre  Dumas 
said  when  quite  young ;  "  it  alone  will  express  what 
you  have  to  say." 

If  Realism  has  not  entirely  stifled  poetry,  it  has 
at  least  changed  its  character.  There  are  no  more 
great  heart-throes,  —  sublime  meeting-grounds  of 
sentimental  rhetoric,  —  neither  vague  Romantic 
melancholy  with  its  passionate  metaphysics,  dithy- 
rambs or  blasphemies,  nor  triumphant  hymns  of 
faith,  and  outbursts  of  turbulent,  theatrical  despair. 
Absolute  perfection  of  poetic  style  is  the  ideal  of 
the  poets  of  our  age.  Their  artistic  scruples  are  in 
keeping  with  that  desire  for  exactitude  which  is  the 
essential  characteristic  of  the  times.  Some  are 
completely  absorbed  by  curiosities  of  rhythm  and 
language.  Others,  while  pushing  their  solicitude 
for  an  irreproachable  form  quite  as  far,  have 
applied  their  poetic  art  to  the  delicate  analysis 
of  thought  and  sentiment.  They  are  Romanticists, 
if  you  will,  but  it  is  a  more  reflective,  condensed, 


334  Literary  Movemeitt  in  France. 

and  studious  Romanticism  which  assuredly  con- 
tracts from  its  environment  a  taste  for  exact  psy- 
chology and  accurate  knowledge,  a  keen  sagacity 
in  criticism,  what  is  precise  in  its  doubts  and 
scientific  in  its  pessimism.  Still  others  belong  to 
the  contemporary  movement  in  the  minute  art 
with  which  they  describe  familiar  realities,  in  their 
talent  for  picturing  the  smallest  details  of  life,  and  in 
the  simple,  pedestrian  tone  of  their  poetry,  which 
aims  at  prose  while  bringing  into  service  all  the 
secrets  of  skilled  versification. 

The  Romantic  school  had  even  transported 
lyrical  art  to  the  stage.  It  did  not,  however,  rep- 
resent the  human  soul,  but,  more  properly,  the 
soul  of  Romanticism.  During  the  second  half  of 
the  century  a  new  theatrical  art  in  harmony  with 
Realistic  tendencies  succeeded  the  drama.  Twenty 
years  after  its  triumph  Romanticism  appeared  as 
antiquated  as  Classicism.  Whatever  the  differences 
of  their  poetics,  Hernani  resembles  le  Cid  more 
than  le  Detni-Monde  or  les  Lionnes  pauvres.  When 
not  considering  Classic  tragedy  and  Romantic 
drama  in  respect  to  form  and  method,  we  note  the 
same  ideal  of  human  life,  —  an  ideal  conceived  in 
an  aureole  of  poetry  and  heroism.  The  contem- 
porary drama  concerns  itself  in  clearly  grasping 
and  vividly  reproducing  reality.  Its  proper  sphere 
is  the  course  of  current  life ;  its  natural  language, 
prose.  Rather  than  seek  unusual  figures  and  events 
from  remote  ages,  it  prefers  commonplace  char- 
acters and  the  simplest  incidents  offered  by  the 
society   of   the    times.     There   are    now   no    opera 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  335 

libretti,  but  in  their  place  themes  in  social  anatomy 
and  psychological  observation. 

There  is  little  difference  in  the  evolution  of  the 
novel,  which  leans  more  and  more  to  the  positive 
and  analytical  direction  given  to  it  by  the  ancestors 
of  Realism.  "  See  clearly  into  what  exists,"  was 
Stendhal's  motto,  and  also  that  of  the  school  which 
regards  him  as  their  first  master.  The  contem- 
porary novel  is  essentially  a  documentary  production. 
Aiming  only  to  transcribe  reality,  it  reduces  in- 
vention as  far  as  possible.  The  first  law  of  the 
Realists  is  to  stifle  all  preferences  likely  to  impair 
the  authority  of  their  work.  Of  themselves  they  dis- 
play nothing  but  the  rigid  precision  of  their  anal- 
ysis. For  them  the  novel  is  an  instrument  of 
inquest;  it  constitutes  the  natural  history  of  their 
generation.  All  their  efforts  are  directed  towards 
remaining  detached  from  their  works.  They 
picture  good  without  evincing  sympathy,  and  evil 
without  allowing  a  sign  of  disapproval  to  escape. 
Their  purpose  is  to  give  impartial  information 
concerning  the  men  and  things  of  their  times. 
Actions  and  characters  alike,  indeed,  all  the  elements 
of  their  works,  are  obtained  from  real  life.  Their 
aesthetics  consist  in  the  imitation  of  nature.  Like 
painters,  they  also  have  their  sketch-books ;  they 
note  from  life  figures,  movements,  attitudes,  a 
gesture,  an  intonation,  or  whatever  name  attracts 
them.  Their  imagination  does  not  serve  to  invent 
what  does  not  exist,  but  to  portray  what  they  have 
observed.  The  value  of  their  compositions  is  deter- 
mined by  the  human  documents  which  enter  into 


336  Literary  Movemejti  in  France. 

them.  They  are  analysts,  historiographers,  col- 
lectors of  actions  and  sensations,  and  all  their  art  is 
employed  in  illustrating  statistics. 

During  the  reign  of  Romanticism  history,  after 
being  renewed  by  Chateaubriand,  with  Augustin 
Thierry  and  Michelet,  had  been  an  evocation,  and 
with  Guizot  and  Mignet  a  logical  structure  of  events 
ordered  and  ruled  by  the  mind.  The  latter  half  of 
the  century,  however,  imparts  to  it  the  character  of 
a  scientific  analysis.  The  historian  of  the  present 
is  neither  a  poet  nor  a  theorist,  but  a  patient 
scholar  who  buries  himself  in  a  little  corner  of  the 
past.  Thence  he  brings  back  neither  descriptive 
pictures  nor  vast  generalizations,  but  minutely 
studied  facts  verified  by  sagacious  criticism,  which 
henceforth  remain  an  acquisition.  He  distrusts 
imagination  because  it  deforms  objects,  sentiment 
because  it  dims  the  vision,  and  long-range  con- 
clusions because  they  subject  concrete  documents 
to  abstract  doctrine.  All  rational  construction,  as 
well  as  all  divination,  is  to  be  questioned.  In  that 
field  in  which  the  great  historians  made  the  earlier 
part  of  the  century  illustrious  by  their  preconceived 
systems  or  impassioned  intuitions,  he  employs  the 
methodical  disinterestedness  of  science.  Its  special 
researches,  studies  in  local  history,  detailed  circum- 
stantial monographs,  naturally  only  assume  their 
true  value  in  taking  their  place  in  an  ensemble.  He 
neither  ignores  nor  loses  sight  of  the  supreme 
object  of  historical  studies,  which  is  universal 
synthesis.  Instead  of  tracing  out  a  rash,  chimerical 
plan,  he  believes  himself  more  useful  in  restricting 


The  Evolution  of  Realism.  337 

his  research  to  a  small  number  of  facts  of  which  he 
can  obtain  a  direct,  complete  knowledge.  Dedi- 
cated solely  to  the  exploration  and  analysis  of 
texts,  the  present  ambition  of  history  is  to  grasp 
things  with  certainty  and  recount  them  accurately. 
It  tends  to  deviate  from  the  proper  domain  of 
literature.  Applying  to  the  realm  of  moral  phe- 
nomena the  rigorous  method  employed  by  the  nat- 
uralist in  respect  to  those  of  the  sensible  world,  it 
associates  itself  with  the  Positive  movement  of  our 
epoch. 

Criticism,  which  previous  to  our  century  had 
been  the  delicate  exercise  of  taste,  also  tends  to- 
wards the  precision  of  science.  It  gradually  enters 
more  and  more  as  an  integrant  part  into  history, 
bringing  to  the  analysis  of  books  the  same  severity 
displayed  by  history  in  the  study  of  events.  It  is  a 
herborization  of  minds.  For  the  ugly  and  beau- 
tiful it  avows  the  same  indifference  that  Positivism 
professes  for  good  and  evil ;  both  alike  are  natural, 
and  what  the  man  of  taste  condemns  is  no  less 
sisrnificant  than  what  he  admires.     The  true  critic 

o 

neither  admires  nor  condemns ;  he  accepts  the 
multiple  forms  revealed  by  the  human  soul,  decries 
none,  and  describes  all.  By  applying  an  implacable 
Determinism  to  art  as  to  morals,  he  extends  the 
empire  of  organic  laws  into  the  sphere  of  literary 
production.  He  reduces  individuals  to  but  the 
resultant  of  their  race.  In  a  work  of  aesthetics  he 
seeks  "  documents."  For  him  it  represents  "  what 
instruments  of  marvellous  sensibility  by  which  the 
slightest  variations  of  bodies  can  be  distinguished 


338  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

and  recorded,  represent  to  scientists."  In  man  he 
sees  "an  animal  of  a  higher  species  which  produces 
philosophies  just  as  bees  make  their  honey." 

The  Positive  has  succeeded  the  Romantic  spirit 
in  all  fields  of  intelligence,  and  what  is  called 
Positivism  in  philosophy  is  Realism  or  Naturalism 
in  literature. 


Poetry,  339 


CHAPTER    II. 

POETRY. 

ALTHOUGH  a  general  reaction  against  senti- 
mental Romanticism  is  brought  about  by 
the  Realistic  spirit  during  the  second  half  of  the 
century,  that  Romantic  impulse  which  had  inspired 
our  literature  since  the  coming  of  Madame  de  Stael 
and  Chateaubriand  had  not  yet  been  entirely  ex- 
hausted. The  influence  which  this  spirit  exercises 
upon  the  masters  of  the  new  school  is  more 
evident  in  poetry;  for,  while  prose  forms  thrive  by 
analysis,  poetry  seems  to  be  directly  opposed  to 
that  impassibility  which  is  the  first  condition  of 
consistent  Realism. 

Of  all  the  survivors  of  the  great  Romantic  gen- 
eration, Victor  Hugo  alone  pursues  his  career. 
Amidst  the  general  depression  of  souls  and  voca- 
tions, he  sturdily  upholds  the  standard  of  Roman- 
ticism, now  floating  in  exile.  Lamartine  has  left 
poetry  for  politics ;  Vigny  by  degrees  retires  into  a 
disdainful  silence;  Musset,  little  by  little,  effects 
his  suicide ;  Gautier  applies  his  golden  pen  to  the- 
atrical reviews;  Sainte-Beuve  has  long  since  buried 
within  himself  the  poet  whose  early  death  is  sur- 
vived  by  the    critic,  —  a   physiologist   forsworn  to 


340  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

all  poetry.  Victor  Hugo  alone  triumphantly  passes 
the  century's  half.  He  experiences  neither  lassi- 
tude nor  discouragement.  While  remaining  true 
to  himself,  he  renews  his  inspiration,  ever  opening 
to  it  broader  perspectives.  Once  firmly  estab- 
lished, his  genius  fulfils  its  promise  with  ease. 

The  first  work  which  Victor  Hugo  dates  from 
a  foreign  land  is  a  volume  of  satires,  quite  lyrical  in 
character.  He  here  displays  a  fervid  indignation 
having  nothing  in  common  with  the  declamatory 
mania  of  Classic  Juvenals.  He  revenges  himself 
upon  proscriptors,  also  vindicating  virtue  and 
public  faith,  for  the  moment  eclipsed.  In  their 
name  his  verses  blast  corruption  of  souls,  stigmatize 
abasement  of  character,  and  scourge  a  whole  de- 
pressed generation  in  whom  anxiety  for  positive  in- 
terests has  smothered  the  religion  of  the  ideal.  Les 
Chatiments  is  the  retaliation  of  Romantic  idealism 
against  the  scepticism  and  feebleness  of  will  which 
characterize  the  Realistic  movement.  His  anathe- 
mas, nevertheless,  sometimes  breathe  accents  of 
gentleness  and  infinite  pity.  While  the  heart  over- 
flowing with  love  is  cursing  those  who  arouse 
its  fury,  love  still  pours  through  its  execrations, 
dictating  to  the  irritated  belligerent  compassionate 
elegies  and  fresh,  graceful  idyls.  Hatred  of  evil 
and  righteous  anger  are  with  him  united  to  that 
cordial,  universal  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate 
which  at  length  becomes  the  poet's  fundamental 
inspiration,  and  is  finally  extended  to  the  wicked 
as  well  as  to  the  unfortunate. 

With  les  Contemplations  Victor  Hugo  returns  to 


Poetry,  34  r 

familiar  poetry.  This  volume  is  a  continuation  of 
those  in  which  the  mysterious  voices  of  nature  were 
mingled  with  man's  joys  and  sorrows.  While  losing 
nothing  of  the  vigor  and  brilliancy  of  a  form  which 
gains  in  ease  and  breadth,  he  reveals  more  intricate 
harmonies,  which  add  to  his  characteristic  precision 
of  material  outline  the  marvellous  power  of  render- 
ing by  sound  and  rhythm  what  neither  the  senses 
nor  the  intelligence  can  grasp.  At  the  same  time 
his  thought  acquires  more  breadth  and  his  sensi- 
bility greater  depth.  These  two  volumes  of  verse 
are,  indeed,  what  their  name  indicates :  they  express 
a  more  contemplative  lyricism  than  his  Feuilles 
(Tautomne  or  his  Voix  interieures.  Advancing  age, 
the  bitterness  of  exile,  and  the  loss  of  one  beloved 
finally  unite  in  ripening  Victor  Hugo's  genius.  A 
lofty,  generous,  pacific  philosophy  emanates  from  his 
reveries,  poetical  imaginings,  and  obscure  apoca- 
lypses. These  are  the  "  memories  of  a  soul  "  pass- 
ing from  ray  to  ray,  and  leaving  behind  youth,  love, 
illusion,  strife,  despair,  —  memories  which  "darken, 
shade  by  shade,"  to  disclose  finally  "  the  blue  sky  of 
a  better  life."  Even  in  days  of  mourning  is  the 
poet's  philosophy  consoling  because  of  its  unalter- 
able and  ever  more  serene  confidence  in  the  triumph 
of  good  over  evil,  and  the  final  reconciliation  of  hu- 
manity with  nature  and  God. 

This  belief  also  prevails  in  la  Legende  des  siecleSy 
a  sincere,  living  epopee  without  vain  mechanism 
or  false  exorcism,  —  a  sort  of  C3'clical  poem  inspired 
by  faith  in  infinite  progress,  and  of  which  man  is 
the  hero.     As  he  follows  it  from  age  to  age,  this 


342  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

legend  of  humanity  unrolls  through  treasons,  rapes, 
and  parricides.  He  opposes  Roland  to  the  infants 
of  Asturia,  Eviradnus  to  Sigismond  and  Ladislas, 
the  Marquis  Fabrice  to  Ratbert.  If  the  amusing 
pictures  of  his  book  are  rare,  its  conception  none 
the  less  rests  upon  an  invincible  optimism.  He 
says  that  all  aspects  of  humanity  can  be  summed 
up  in  a  single  ascension  towards  the  light.  He 
wishes  to  point  out  that  "man  mounting  through 
darkness  to  the  ideal "  represents  the  "  expansion  of 
mankind  from  age  to  age,  the  paradisiacal  transfigura- 
tion of  an  earthly  hell,  the  slow,  supreme  develop- 
ment of  liberty."  Considered  as  a  whole,  it  is  "a 
sort  of  religious  hymn  of  a  thousand  strophes,  with 
a  deep  faith  in  its  entrails  and  a  lofty  prayer  on  its 
summit." 

Victor  Hugo  possesses  the  historical  sense  in  the 
highest  degree ;  but  he  finds  himself  particularly  at 
home  in  the  legend.  His  robust  genius  here  finds 
full  scope ;  he  unrolls  immense  pictures,  raises  up 
gigantic  figures,  evokes  sublime  myths,  revives  the 
soul  of  ancient  races,  expresses  by  formidable  sym- 
bols the  higher  laws  of  the  conscience,  and  finally 
enters  into  human  agitations  disputed  by  both  good 
and  evil.  He  "  strikes  the  human  soul  to  learn  its 
true  sound,  as  also  beings  differing  from  man  called 
beasts,  together  with  inanimate  things  and  nature, 
which  fulfil  we  know  not  what  fatal  functions  in 
creation's  uncertain  equilibrium."  This  poem,  which 
opens  upon  the  transplendency  of  Eden  and  closes 
with  the  fantastic  perspectives  of  the  infinite,  is  the 
richest,  the  most  varied,  and  the  most  impressive  of 


Poetry.  343 

all  Victor  Hugo's  works.  He  places  a  truly  marvel- 
lous verbal  faculty  at  the  service  of  an  incomparable 
imagination.  For  this  new  form,  which  unites  the 
drama  and  lyricism  with  the  epopee,  he  fashions  a 
new  style  akin  to  both  his  lyrical  and  his  dramatical 
diction,  but  less  strained  than  the  one  and  less  abrupt 
than  the  other.  It  is  a  style  admirably  suited  to  this 
legend  of  ages,  by  reason  of  the  simplicity  and  famil- 
iarity of  its  magnificence.  Victor  Hugo's  epic  tal- 
ent, already  revealed  in  Notre-Dame  de  Paris,  in  les 
Burgraves,  and  in  certain  portions  of  les  Chdtiments, 
here  attains  its  highest  expression;  for  of  all  others 
is  not  the  epic  form  most  characterized  by  universal 
freedom  ? 

The  poet's  fame  has  not  yet  set.  After  the  vast 
pictures  of  la  Legende,  he  adds  a  new  string  to  his 
lyre  in  order  to  sing  in  advanced  age  of  the  gay,  free 
delights  of  adolescence.  On  his  return  to  besieged 
Paris  after  his  long  exile,  the  disasters  he  pictures 
in  lAmiee  terrible  inspire  him  with  strophes  quiv- 
ering with  indignation  and  patriotism  ;  yet  is  he, 
nevertheless,  exalted  by  an  invincible  faith  in  the 
destiny  of  France,  —  a  faith  confounded  in  his  heart 
with  the  sentiments  of  Justice  and  Fraternity.  His 
indefatigable  genius  multiplies  itself  even  to  the 
brink  of  the  tomb ;  indeed,  how  many  posthumous 
poems  seem  to  testify  to  his  perpetual  youth  and 
fertility  beyond  the  grave ! 

In  Victor  Hugo's  last  works  he  resumes  themes 
already  known.  After  la  Legende  des  slides  he 
ceases  to  renew  himself.  However,  the  repetitions 
which  abound  in  his  later  works  seem  inferior  to 


344  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

their  first  expression  only  because  they  are  posterior. 
Toute  la  lyre  has  but  recently  appeared,  yet  we  find 
in  it  many  masterpieces  which  bear  comparison  with 
the  finest  in  les  Contemplations,  in  les  Ckatiments, 
and  in  VAnnee  terrible.  Even  in  extreme  age 
Victor  Hugo  loses  nothing  of  his  force  and  vigor. 
He  returns  upon  his  footsteps  only  because  he  has 
already  traversed  the  entire  cycle  of  poetry. 

Although  attacked,  disputed,  and  criticised  at  the 
outset  of  his  career,  during  its  latter  half  he  exer- 
cised a  sovereignty  unanimously  recognized.  All 
contemporary  poetry  proceeds  from  him.  His  dis- 
ciples have,  in  their  turn,  become  masters,  just  as 
Alexander's  lieutenants  became  kings  upon  the 
division  of  his  empire.  The  origin  of  all  the  poetic 
schools  that  grew  up  about  him  can  be  traced  to  one 
of  his  masterpieces.  Virtuosi  draw  their  inspiration 
from  his  Oriejttales,  psychologists  from  his  Voix 
interieures,  Olympians  from  his  Legende  des  siecles, 
"  Funambulesques "  from  the  fourth  act  of  Ruy 
Bias :  and  even  those  mystics  of  form,  the  "  Symbol- 
ists," recognize  in  him  the  first  of  our  poets  to  grasp 
the  soul  of  words,  and,  according  to  their  own 
expression,  to  divine  a  meaning  in  the  quiver  of  syl- 
lables. As  Emile  Augier  says,  Victor  Hugo  is 
*'  le  Pere."  His  triumphant  old  age  was  enshrined 
by  a  veritable  cult;  and  when  he  passed  away,  a 
whole  people  conducted  him  to  the  Pantheon.  His 
apotheosis,  however,  had  preceded  his  interment. 

Victor  Hugo  is  more  than  an  ancestor,  he  is  also 
in  a  certain  sense  a  primitive.  He  is  inspired  by 
the  most  general  sentiments,  those  which  reside  at 


Poetry.  345 

the  basis  of  the  human  soul.  Gifted  with  a  powerful 
organization,  yet  capable  of  both  grace  and  sweet- 
ness, —  to  witness,  many  pages  of  exquisite  delicacy, 
—  he  is  quite  inapt  in  those  quintessences  of  the 
heart  so  curiously  illustrated  in  many  of  the  poets 
of  our  times.  He  has  been  accused  of  grossness  of 
soul ;  he  possesses  a  great  soul,  open  wide  to  all 
generous  inspirations,  impregnated  with  love  and 
pity,  vibrating  at  the  slightest  breath,  and  brighten- 
ing with  the  first  gleam.  Indeed,  if  we  find  in  him 
neither  finical  affectations  nor  subtle  refinements,  it 
is  because  a  robust  man  cannot  be  as  sensitive  as 
one  who  is  abnormally  developed. 

In  condemning  him  for  what  our  keenest  critics 
call  the  commonplaces  of  sentiment,  they  also  accuse 
him  of  ordinary  thoughts.  They  extol  the  wonder- 
ful craftsman  in  style,  the  sovereign  master  of  the 
verb,  but  find  that  his  marvellous  form  covers  but 
little  substance,  and  pretend  that  the  god  of  imagery 
and  rhythm  is  but  a  mediocre  thinker.  Let  us  not 
overlook  what  is  artless  in  his  imposing  antitheses, 
rudimentary  in  his  conception  of  things,  incomplete, 
excessively  foreshortened,  and  sometimes  radically 
false  in  his  historical  views,  or  what  is  either  too 
simple  in  his  formulas,  or  contradictory  in  the  vari- 
ous philosophies  which  he  has  successively  inter- 
preted. Victor  Hugo  is  not  a  philosopher.  His 
imagination  grasps  great  systems  in  order  to  trans- 
form them  into  poetic  myths.  One  should  not  smile 
on  hearing  him  called  a  magician;  this  is,  indeed, 
his  true  name. 

Is  there  really  less  substance  in  his  poetry  than 


346  Literary  Move7ne7it  in  France. 

in  that  of  other  great  contemporary  poets?  We 
cannot  credit  it.  Miracles  of  language  and  versifi- 
cation should  not  cause  us  to  slight  what  serious 
thought  as  well  as  profound  sentiment  is  to  be 
found  in  his  works.  If,  according  to  one  of  his 
most  illustrious  disciples,  all  poetry  contains  a  phi- 
losophy, it  is  not  diiificult  to  discover  the  fundamental 
unity  of  the  great  work  he  has  left,  notwithstanding 
its  obscure  symbols  and  flagrant  contradictions. 
All  Victor  Hugo's  digressions  are  dominated  by  a 
firm  belief  in  universal  order  and  progress.  Like  all 
strong  natures,  he  was  an  optimist,  and  preached  love 
and  confidence.  An  earnest  solicitude  for  morality 
gives  his  poetry  a  sturdy,  vivifying  charm.  We 
always  find  something  resolute,  something  unyield- 
ing in  his  works,  the  idea  of  duty  and  faith  in  jus- 
tice, whose  highest  form  in  his  eyes  is  clemency. 
Others  have  troubled,  enervated,  disenchanted  the 
human  soul ;  he  has  reassured,  strengthened,  en- 
couraged it ;  he  has  communicated  to  it  something 
of  his  own  firm,  robust  virtue.  As  well  as  being  the 
greatest  artist  of  the  century,  may  he  not  also  be  the 
poet  who  has  brought  the  highest  conception  of 
morality  into  art,  the  poet  of  the  most  hospitable 
soul  who  has  employed  his  genius  most  generously 
and  valiantly? 

Since  the  middle  of  the  century  Victor  Hugo  had 
assisted  from  afar  in  the  transformation  of  Romanti- 
cism. When  its  primitive  inspiration  had  been 
exhausted,  Romanticism  —  in  principle  but  the  re- 
naissance of  sentiment-exalted  by  spiritual  fervor  — 


Poetry.  347 

became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  questions  of  pure 
form,  like  all  schools  at  their  decline.  The  a:reat 
poets  were  followed  by  sculptors  in  verse,  carvers  of 
strophes.  Theophile  Gautier  had  belonged  to  the 
Romantic  revolution  only  in  his  descriptive  and 
picturesque  character.  Moreover,  he  had  hoisted 
the  ensign  of  art  for  art's  sake.  Although  thor- 
oughly idealistic  in  spirit,  Victor  Hugo  had  from 
the  first  brought  to  his  composition  a  partiality 
for  images,  precise  lines,  and  well-marked  relief,  a 
plasticity  of  language  and  rhythm,  which  more  than 
once  caused  him  to  be  accused  of  poetic  materialism. 
In  this  sense  Gautier  was  his  disciple.  The  author 
of  Emaux  et  Camees  ended  by  making  his  entire  art 
consist  in  the  description  of  nature.  "  I  am  a  man 
for  whom  the  visible  world  exists,"  he  says.  Whether 
in  regard  to  ideas  or  sentiments,  the  invisible  world 
came  to  exist  less  and  less  for  him ;  he  reduced 
poetry  to  the  choice  of  fine  words  and  their  clever 
arrangement,  aiming  to  express  by  them  only  rich 
colors  and  harmonious  contours. 

This  exclusive  cult  for  poetic  form,  at  least,  made 
an  admirable  artist  of  him.  By  gradually  contract- 
ing and  refining  upon  himself,  he  made  ingenious 
virtuosi  of  his  successors.  Of  all  these  the  most 
florid  and  brilliant,  the  richest  in  fine  vocables  and 
metaphors,  is  Theodore  de  Banville. 

Like  Gautier,  Banville  is  also  a  pagan.  In  Gau- 
tier's  paganism,  however,  there  was  an  after-taste 
of  the  middle  ages  with  all  its  superstitions  and 
Gothic  gloom.  There  is  nothing  of  this  in  Ban- 
ville.    He  expresses  but  the  joy  of  the  senses,  — 


348  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

what  is  sonorous  and  luminous,  rays  without 
shadows,  harmonies  troubled  by  no  discords.  He 
reaches  out  his  hand  through  Gautier  and  Victor 
Hugo  to  Andre  Chenier,  the  poet  of  all  that  pre- 
ceded Fa7iny  and  les  lambes.  He  is  somewhat  of 
a  Greek,  or  rather  what  Chenier  called  French- 
Byzantine  in  speaking  of  himself.  He  regards  life 
as  a  perpetual  fete.  His  serene  felicity  has  been 
disturbed  neither  by  the  cares  of  thought,  the  anx- 
ieties of  conscience,  nor  the  ardors  of  passion. 

For  him  the  work  of  Romanticism  seems  to  be 
reduced  to  the  regeneration  of  rhyme.  Rhyme  he 
constitutes  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  poetry. 
In  rhyme  he  seeks  the  secret  of  a  new  comic  lan- 
guage in  verse.  To  glorify  rhyme  he  restores  to 
honor  ancient  styles  which  take  their  virtue  from 
it.  He  is  not  satisfied  with  the  sonnet  which  had 
been  revived  by  Sainte-Beuve.  He  must  have 
ballads,  rondeaux,  triolets,  villanelles,  and  all  those 
poetical  forms  which  bristle  most  with  gratuitous 
difficulties.  From  him  one  must  expect  nothing 
but  agility,  ingenuity,  and  the  nimble,  supple  grace 
of  the  clown.  He  is,  in  fact,  the  clown  of  an  aerial, 
fantastic  lyricism,  charming  even  in  its  ramblings, 
—  a  lyricism  which  casts  aside  all  importunate  lug- 
gage of  thought  and  sentiment  in  order  to  be  unim- 
peded in  its  flight.  Rhyme  constitutes  this  clown's 
spring-board.  All  his  prestige  and  brilliancy  is  to 
be  found  at  the  end  of  his  lines.  His  Muse  is  the 
**  supporting  consonant." 

He  has  given  us  his  code  of  poetics,  which  con- 
sists   exclusively   in    a    theory    of   rhyme.     Words, 


Poetry.  349 

not  ideas  or  sentiments,  inspire  him.  To  his 
bewitched  imagination  words  speak  and  reply.  He 
.sees  them  gleam,  hears  them  ring  against  each 
other.  The  whole  secret  of  his  art  lies  in  luminous, 
sonorous  rhymes.  The  space  they  leave  empty  is 
to  be  filled  up;  and  if  a  few  wedges  are  here  and 
there  necessary,  and  the  meaning  sometimes  sur- 
prises us,  do  we  not  know  that  that  superfluous 
article,  poetry,  infers  many  happy  superfluities,  that 
nothing  becomes  it  like  a  grain  of  extravagance  ? 
Banville  applies  this  trivial,  seductive  conception 
of  art  solely  to  light  poems  of  fantasy  and  adven- 
ture. In  seeking  refuge  in  the  land  of  chimeras 
and  fairy  dreams,  he  protests  in  his  own  way 
against  the  Realism  of  his  times. 

Baudelaire,  like  Banville,  is  also  related  to 
Gautier,  that  "impeccant  poet,"  the  "perfect  magi- 
cian of  French  letters,"  to  whom  he  dedicated  his 
Fleurs  du  mal.  But  while  we  find  in  the  one  what 
is  most  radiant,  sprightly,  and  daintily  superficial  in 
their  common  master's  art,  the  other  refines  upon 
that  master's  preference  for  the  curious  and  compli- 
cated, his  decadent,  archaical  tastes,  and  that  rest- 
less curiosity  of  the  occult  which  so  often  imparts 
to  his  poetry  an  acridly  subtle,  exquisitely  veno- 
mous flavor.  Whatever  he  owes  to  the  author  of 
Albertus,  Baudelaire  may,  for  all  that,  be  con- 
sidered one  of  the  most  original,  or  at  least  one  of 
the  most  curious  and  coniDlex,  fissures  of  his  times. 
He  is  the  first  of  those  distorted,  over-ridden 
talents,   impotent   in    creation,   but  singularly  deli- 


350  L  iterary  Movement  171  France. 

cate  in  analysis,  such  as  are  formed  by  an  exhausted 
civiHzation,  to  be  justly  compared  with  that  torrid 
loam  which  produces  sickly,  heady  fruits. 

Together  with  the  need  for  the  voluptuous,  and 
even  in  sensuality,  he  unites  an  irresistible  incli- 
nation to  self-analysis.  He  knows  none  but  carnal 
love,  sometimes  in  its  rueful  bestiality,  sometimes 
in  its  most  ingenious  corruptions.  Considering 
woman  as  an  inferior  being,  he  seeks  nothing  but 
sensations,  in  which  his  mind  remains  free  to  defile 
the  joys  of  the  flesh.  This  son  of  "  maniac  or  idiot 
ancestors,  who  succumbed  to  their  furious  pas- 
sions," exasperated  his  morbid  sensibility  both  by 
the  abuse  of  pleasure  and  by  those  excitants  which 
procured  him  what  he  called  his  "  paradise."  To 
all  this  may  be  added  the  irritability  of  a  susceptible 
vanity,  pecuniary  anxieties  which  poisoned  his  life, 
and  the  cruel  torments  of  an  almost  ever-baiifled 
artist  havino:  full  knowledo^e  of  his  own  short- 
comings.  Is  not  this  more  than  sufficient  to  ex- 
plain  a  nervous  system  incapable  of  experiencing  full 
enjoyment  ?  He  does  not  find  gratification,  and 
consequently  not  the  repose  of  the  senses,  but  ex- 
asperation, the  fulness  of  disgust,  and  a  bitter  dis- 
taste for  a  sensuality  that  cannot  appease  passion. 
Then  the  debauche  curses  his  debauch,  turns  in  hor- 
ror from  his  sin,  and,  still  soiled  with  sloth,  becomes 
infatuated  with  a  mystical  spiritualism  to  foster 
some  starry  dream.  Baudelaire  had  begun  with 
faith,  but,  when  he  ceased  to  believe,  his  mind  and 
heart  retained  its  regrets  and  terrors.  Relapses 
to  a  corrupt  Catholicism  but  impart  an  added  zest 


Poetry,  351 

to  voluptuous  satisfactions.  Pleasure  is  more  than 
doubled  when  remorse  heightens  its  sweetness,  for 
then  the  quiver  of  ideal  ecstasy  at  times  seizes  him 
in  the  stupor  of  orgies  and  gives  him  the  illusion 
of  first  youth.  Thus  the  blase  reconstitutes  for 
himself  a  sort  of  virginity  which  will  impart  new 
zest  to  pleasures  to  come. 

In  this  mixture  of  morbid  religiosity  with  what  is 
most  subtle  in  the  debauch  —  a  mysticism  of  impure 
alloy  intensifying  its  seductiveness  —  consists  Bau- 
delaire's entire  originality.  Much  that  is  recherche^ 
doubtless,  enters  into  this  enigmatical  physiognomy. 
There  is  nothing  simple,  nothing  sincere  in  his 
nature.  "  A  little  charlatanism,"  he  writes,  "  is  al- 
ways allowed  genius."  His  affectations  give  further 
evidence  of  this,  and  we  may  conclude  what  he  was 
by  what  he  wished  to  appear.  Those  rare  ideas 
which  fed  his  sterile  brain,  and  which  he  has  not 
ceased  to  repeat  in  prose  as  in  verse,  can  be  traced 
to  Catholicism.  From  it  his  theory  of  art  also  pro- 
ceeds directly. 

In  Baudelaire's  eyes  original  sin  had  stamped  an 
indelible  stain  upon  all  nature.  Considered  from 
the  moral  point  of  view,  nature  is  the  voice  of  self- 
interest,  the  appetites,  and  egotistical  passions.  The 
philosophers  of  the  eighteenth  century  believed 
nature  to  be  the  source  of  all  good ;  he  regards  it  as 
inherently  defiled,  and,  according  to  his  own  expres- 
sion, satanical.  Vice  is  natural  to  man ;  while  virtue 
is  factitious.  Transferring  this  conception  of  mo- 
rality to  art,  we  have  Baudelaire's  aesthetics  complete. 
Beauty,  no  more  than  good,  proceeds  from  nature. 


352  Literary  Alcvemcnt  in  France. 

It  is  artificial  as  well  as  virtue.  The  poet  prefers 
artificial  to  "  natural  beauty,"  that  which  art  has 
bedizened  with  its  blandishments.  He  eulogizes 
artifice,  exalts  paint,  powder,  beauty-patches,  and  all 
that  elevates  woman  above  nature,  thus  making  her 
a  "divine,  superior  being."  As  regards  perfumes, 
he  prefers  those  combined  by  occult  art ;  as  regards 
colors,  those  which  are  less  frank,  more  complicated, 
and  particularly  those  which  disclose  interior  decom- 
position, —  the  "  phosphorescence  of  putrefaction." 
In  poetry,  he  is  best  pleased  by  the  products  of  de- 
clining civilizations,  refined  to  excess  by  several  cen- 
turies of  culture,  —  those  tortured,  perverted  works 
which  presage  the  final  dissolution  of  a  degenerate 
society.  He  places  Rome  above  Greece,  and  his 
Rome  is  the  Rome  of  Petronius.  A  work  of  art 
without  arriere-pensees,  subtle  machinations,  and 
*'  owing  all  to  nature,"  resembles  a  "  matron  repug- 
nant in  health  and  virtue."  He  holds  all  simplicity 
in  horror.  The  dilettante  of  the  debauch  is  also  the 
aesthetic  of  "depravation." 

Baudelaire,  however,  at  least  followed  the  "cult 
of  literature."  In  his  fastidious  solicitude  for  form, 
in  the  relentless  tenacity  with  which  he  pursued 
what  he  called  the  "absolute  expression,"  we  rec- 
ognize the  disciple  of  Gautier.  But  the  implaca- 
ble artist  rarely  triumphs.  His  conceptions,  being 
almost  always  limited,  are  usually  developed  with 
great  difficulty.  Aside  from  his  subterfuges,  entan- 
glements, and  pretentious  Machiavellism,  how  many 
inapt  expressions,  false  figures,  and  even  inaccuracies 
do  we  find  in  his  works !      In  his  Fletirs  die  mal 


Poetry.  353 

there  are  admirable  lines  of  a  "disturbing,"  mysteri- 
ous beauty ;  but  how  many  truly  finished  poems  ? 
This  cynical,  quintessential  poet,  as  laborious  as  he 
is  unproductive,  without  ideas  or  imagination,  affect- 
ing an  obscurity  that  affords  no  illusion  concerning 
his  poverty  of  mind,  is  not  wanting  in  fanatical  ad- 
mirers. They  are  however,  confined  to  a  conventi- 
cle of  biases,  explained  in  part  by  dupery,  in  part  by 
mystification.  This  fanaticism  may  further  be  ac- 
counted for  by  that  perverted  sensibility  which  is 
characteristic  of  this,  the  prototype  of  the  "  Deca- 
dents," a  species  of  nervous  derangement,  of  which 
numerous  examples  are  to  be  found  among  the 
present  generations. 

Baudelaire,  a  strained,  convulsive,  stifled  artist, 
reaping  a  doubtful  originality  from  incapacity,  finds 
his  contrast  in  Leconte  de  Lisle,  whose  serene 
Olympian  spirit  expresses  itself  in  a  tranquil,  robust 
magnificence  of  form.  The  one,  a  dandy  of  "  deca- 
dence," delights  in  morbid  refinements  and  Maca- 
brian  affectations;  the  other,  the  heroic,  devout 
singer  of  ancient  or  barbarian  civilizations,  unrolls 
great  pictures  with  priestly  gravity,  Baudelaire 
proceeds  from  Gautier;  Leconte  de  Lisle  is  closely 
related  to  Victor  Hugo.  In  breadth  and  vigor  of 
poetic  style,  in  splendor  of  imagery,  in  the  gift  for 
embracing  vast  ensembles,  for  evoking  ancient 
epochs,  and  for  imparting  life  to  the  myths  and  sym- 
bols of  primitive  societies,  more  than  all  other  con- 
temporary poets  does  he  resemble  his  first  initiator, 
always    his    master.      As  an   artist,    he    is   distin- 

23 


354  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

guished  from  him  by  a  still  more  scrupulous  atten- 
tion to  descriptive  precision  and  exactitude;  as  a 
philosopher,  by  a  contemplative  stoicism  troubled 
by  no  emotion. 

The  solicitude  for  a  supreme  and  absolute  perfec- 
tion of  form,  which  characterized  the  greater  part  of 
the  Romanticists  of  the  second  epoch,  naturally  led 
to  a  conception  of  poetry  in  which  sentiment  could 
find  no  place.  Leconte  de  Lisle  is  the  chief  of  those 
who  have  been  called  the  "  Impassibles."  It  is  not 
the  faculty  of  feeling,  but  that  of  expression,  which 
constitutes  him  a  poet  for  those  to  whom  the  "  two 
expressions  '  great  poet '  and  '  irreproachable  artist ' 
are  necessarily  identical."  In  order  to  be  truly  irre- 
proachable, the  artist  must  forbid  all  emotion  that 
may  cause  his  hand  to  tremble.  Is  not  poetry,  then, 
the  "heart's  cry".?  Leconte  de  Lisle  rises  up 
against  this  apothegm  because  of  its  "  stupidity."  "  A 
professional  display  of  tears  "  outrages  the  majesty 
of  art  as  well  as  violates  the  most  sacred  feelings. 
Art  is  sufficient  unto  itself ;  to  apply  it  to  the  expres- 
sion of  personal  sentiments  would  be  to  degrade  and 
corrupt  it.  The  only  emotion  which  the  poet  should 
experience  must  be  purely  aesthetical,  —  that  which 
is  aroused  by  beauty. 

Leconte  de  Lisle  first  makes  himself  known  by  a 
resounding  preface,  in  which  he  condemns  all  sub- 
jective poetry  as  a  profanation  and  constrains  poets 
to  lay  aside  personal  themes.  He  would  have  them 
again  immerse  in  eternally  pure  sources  the  worn- 
out,  enfeebled  expression  of  general  sentiments,  and 
fortify  their  minds  by  study  and  meditation  in  order 


Poetry.  355 

to  become  the  guides  of  humanity  in  its  search  for 
ideal  traditions.  The  great  Romantic  poets  had 
already  sought  inspiration  from  the  early  history 
of  mankind  ;  but  instead  of  becoming  the  contem- 
poraries of  vanished  races,  they  attributed  modern 
ideas  to  ancient  heroes.  La  Legende  des  siecles  over- 
flows with  lyricism.  Investing  past  ages  with  his 
own  personality,  Victor  Hugo  very  often  sought 
only  a  setting  for  his  thoughts  and  sentiments.  Be- 
sides the  necessity  for  lyrical  expansion,  he  also 
brought  to  this  epopee  of  our  race  a  steadfast  spirit- 
ual faith,  humanitarian  sympathies,  and  an  irresisti- 
ble inclination  to  dramatize  and  moralize.  Leconte 
de  Lisle,  on  the  contrary,  wished  to  portray  it  with 
the  neutrality  of  a  historian  and  the  absolute  disin- 
terestedness of  a  philosopher  to  whom  all  conceptions 
which  have  successively  influenced  mankind  have  at 
one  time  been  equally  true.  To  him  poetry  con- 
sists  in  representing  without  the  intervention  of  self 
the  multiple  forms  vested  from  age  to  age  by  the 
cult  of  Beauty. 

While  his  imagination  demanded  vast  themes,  his 
serious,  meditative  mind  could  not  satisfy  itself  in 
mere  craftsmanship.  The  history  of  extinct  races 
and  religions  furnished  him  with  matter  suited  to 
his  vigorous  style  of  expression,  as  well  as  to  a  men- 
tal habit  naturally  inclined  towards  grave  contempla- 
tion. His  theory  of  beauty  for  beauty's  sake  did  not 
culminate  in  empty  formalism.  In  this  artist  wedded 
to  severe  rhymes  and  sculptural  lines,  there  is  also 
a  thinker,  for  whom  poetry  is  but  a  form  of  philoso- 
phy.    He  believes  that  art  should  tend  towards   a 


356  Literary  Alovemeiit  in  France. 

close  union  with  science.  In  ancient  times  it  was 
the  spontaneous  revelation  of  the  ideal,  while  science 
is  its  deliberate  study.  Its  intuitive  force  is  now  ex- 
hausted ;  therefore,  should  the  poet  turn  to  science 
if  he  wishes  art  to  have  the  significance  of  its  for- 
gotten traditions.  The  regeneration  of  forms  is 
closely  allied  to  that  of  principles.  Instead  of  pro- 
faning the  language  of  verse  by  lowering  it  to  the 
expression  of  his  own  inanity,  the  poet  should  "  re- 
enter the  scholar's  contemplative  life,  as  into  a  sanc- 
tuary of  purification."  Both  science  and  poetry 
worthy  the  name  should  revert  to  their  common 
origin.  Grave,  august,  liturgical,  and  alien  to  all 
personal  passion,  it  is  the  sacred  history  of  human 
thought. 

By  turns  Leconte  de  Lisle  has  been  the  contem- 
porary of  every  epoch  and  the  priest  of  every  religion. 
Buddhism  is,  however,  the  natural  expression  of  his 
mind.  To  him  nature  resembles  a  series  of  phe- 
nomena ceaselessly  renewed  and  sustained  by  no 
substance.  All  things  are  but  the  dream  of  a  dream. 
Only  the  eternal  is  true,  and  the  void  alone  is  eter- 
nal. Leconte  de  Lisle's  impassibility  is  the  final 
word  of  a  morality  consequent  upon  his  philosophy. 
Supreme  happiness  lies  in  repose.  Evil  consists  in 
living;  we  must  then  live  as  little  as  possible,  stifle 
within  us  all  emotion,  cure  ourselves  of  hope,  and 
make  the  soul  the  inviolable  asylum  of  silence  and 
forgetful ness.  Matruya  is  tortured  by  love,  Narada 
by  recollection,  Angira  by  doubt;  they  implore  Bag- 
havat.  To  the  three  sages  Baghavat  opens  his  great 
breast,  wherein  their  spirits  forever  lose  themselves 


Poetry.  357 

in  immutable  felicity.  Happy  he  who  can  close  his 
heart  to  human  passions  and  find  on  earth  in  sancti- 
fied indolence  a  foretaste  of  the  supreme  Nirvana ! 
The  nights  of  his  native  sky  have  lulled  the  poet  into 
raptures  which  free  his  soul  of  time,  space,  and  num- 
ber. He  has  indulged  in  inert  delights,  in  motion- 
less ecstasies ;  like  the  ancient  ascetics,  he  has  seated 
himself  in  the  depths  of  forests  to  absorb  in  long 
draughts  the  vast  peace  which  emanates  from  nature. 
Thence  he  brings  oracles  of  mournful  wisdom.  Let 
man  seek  oblivion  from  pain,  even  from  joy,  in  the 
quiet  forests :  from  their  lofty  domes  a  lasting  peace 
will  descend  into  his  heart.  Let  him  demand  from 
animals  the  secret  of  their  content.  The  bull  with 
half-closed  eyes  ruminates  in  placid  blissfulness. 
Thus  let  man  shut  his  heart  to  the  torments  of 
passion  and  his  mind  to  the  evil  of  thought.  Let  him 
slumber  in  beatific  lethargy ;  let  him  listen  to  the  voice 
of  nature,  whose  very  silence  bears  a  lesson.  What } 
Nature  has  also  her  troubles  and  agitations.  The 
ocean's  waves  convey  their  restless  murmurs  to  our 
ears ;  at  times  a  quiver  of  anguish  traverses  the  soli- 
tude of  the  forests.  Elephants  move  but  slowly,  and 
while  the  sun  burns  the  black  wrinkled  hides  of 
these  massive  pilgrims,  they  dream  of  the  forests  of 
fig-trees  that  once  sheltered  their  race.  Dogs  howl 
at  the  livid  moon  upon  the  shore,  as  if  a  soul  were 
weeping  some  mysterious  sorrow  in  the  shapeless 
forms  of  the  waves  and  rocks.  With  his  haughty, 
languishing  eye,  the  bull  pursues  the  inward  dream 
which  will  never  come  to  an  end.  Behold  him  aban- 
don his  bed  of  moss  and  hyacinth,  extend  his  flat 


358  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

muzzle  and  bellow  far  over  the  waves!  Where,  then, 
is  peace  to  be  found,  since  it  dwells  neither  in  the 
rudimentary  souls  of  beasts  nor  in  the  apparent 
unconsciousness  of  nature  ?  Peace  lies  within  the 
tomb.  The  poet  envies  you,  O  dismal  race  of  those 
who  are  no  more !  Importuned  by  the  sinister 
voices  of  the  living,  he  longs  for  sacred  sleep,  he 
summons  divine  Death.  He  demands  the  Void  to 
give  the  repose  which  life  has  denied  him. 

Leconte  de  Lisle's  aesthetics  are  in  accord  with 
his  philosophy;  in  this  repose  of  wisdom  and  felic- 
ity he  also  finds  the  source  of  beauty.  To  him 
beauty  appears  as  the  symbol  of  impassive  happi- 
ness. Its  highest  expression  is  to  be  found  in 
Greek  art,  —  in  gods  of  marble,  immortal,  spotless 
forms  which  have  never  been  stained  by  human 
strife.  The  devout  pilgrim  seeks  the  lost  road 
to  Paros,  and,  while  deformity  triumphs,  transports 
himself  to  those  o^lorious  asres  when  the  universe 
expanded  in  order  and  splendor.  Although  Leconte 
de  Lisle  visited  many  countries  and  diverse  civiliza- 
tions, Greece,  the  ancient  Hellas  of  Homer  and 
Sophocles,  is  his  true  home.  Euripides,  the  initia- 
tor of  decadence,  altered  the  hieratic  forms  of 
Beauty.  After  him,  the  radiant  vision  of  Beauty 
becomes  more  and  more  obscured  until,  cursed  by 
the  vile  Galilean,  Hypatia  folds  her  immaculate 
wings.  Then  the  Virgin  covers  the  august  tomb 
of  the  gods  with  the  folds  of  her  holy  robe.  In 
vain  does  Cyril  approach  Hypatia;  she  shows  him 
the  Empire  surrendered  to  gloomy  quarrels,  igno- 
rant,  malignant   fanaticism,   and    predicts    the    dis- 


Poetry.  359 

grace,  terrors,  and  miseries  of  the  middle  ages,  its 
|)ests,  famines,  massacres,  vulgar  superstitions,  and 
mystical  hideousness.  She  returns  to  her  inter- 
rupted dream ;  golden  rhythms  and  sacred  numbers 
quiver  and  vibrate  around  her,  while  the  Attic  bee 
descends  to  gather  the  honey  of  pagan  wisdom  and 
virtue  from  her  lips. 

Leconte  de  Lisle's  adoration  for  classical  beauty 
is  united  with  the  cult  of  the  Void.  From  this 
peaceful,  luminous  Naturalism  he  demands  both  the 
secret  of  happiness  and  art's  highest  principle.  An 
imperturbable  soul  is  for  him  the  only  condition  of 
infallible  art.  This  austere  ideal  impresses  his  form 
with  sculptural  lines.  The  Greek  Muse  has,  how- 
ever, not  initiated  him  into  all  mysteries.  His 
perfection  is  not  without  rigidity ;  it  has  the  polish, 
but  also  the  hardness  of  marble.  This  wilful, 
puissant  artist  is  wanting  in  grace,  that  smile  of 
strength  which  triumphs  in  playfulness.  His  im- 
perious verb  lacks  the  charm  of  graceful  negligence. 
He  unrolls  his  pictures  in  condensed  strophes,  soft- 
ened in  their  relentless  splendor  by  no  discreet 
shades.  Indeed,  his  brilliant  rhetoric  either  ignores 
or  disdains  nuances.  There  are  no  veiled  notes, 
but  everywhere  the  fulness  of  glorious  harmonies 
expanded  in  great  waves  by  the  tide  of  his  verse. 
His  proud  spirit  scorns  our  infirmities;  he  dazzles 
and  overwhelms  us  by  his  magnificence.  We  would 
have  him  more  human,  more  familiar,  more  com- 
passionate. His  sculpturesque  majesty  overawes 
us;  we  admire  his  haughty  determination  to  ab- 
stract himself,   while   we   regret  what   is  cold  and 


J 


60  Literary  Movement  in  France. 


alien  to  the  heart  in  the  poetry  of  the  brazen- 
browed  stoic  who  forswears  the  weakness  of  com- 
passion, the  impassive  artist  who  deems  all  emotion 
an  offence  to  the  dignity  of  his  art. 

Has  he,  then,  entirely  absented  himself  from  his 
work  ?  Has  he  not,  after  all,  blended  something  of 
his  heart  and  thought  with  the  ancient  legends  ? 
Alfred  de  Vigny's  Samson  and  Moses  are  the 
poet  himself ;  so  also  do  the  figures  which  Leconte 
de  Lisle  evokes  very  often  but  express  his  own 
soul,  —  not  only  his  personal  conception  of  nature 
and  humanity,  but  also  the  trials  and  revolts  not  to 
be  concealed  by  his  mask  of  pride.  Is  Cain,  then, 
less  modern  than  Samson  and  Moses  ?  The  poet 
endows  him  with  his  own  hauteur,  his  furious  nega- 
tions, his  fierce  pessimism,  and  even  his  hatred  of 
the  middle  ages,  which  the  Cursed  One  perceives 
afar  through  the  smoke  of  the  funeral  pyre.  Like 
his  predecessors,  Leconte  de  Lisle  has  selected 
from  the  history  of  mankind  those  themes  best 
suited  to  the  development  of  contemporary  ideas 
and  individual  aspirations. 

More  than  once  has  he  laid  aside  the  archaic 
symbolism  which  he  generally  affects  in  order 
directly  to  reproduce  emotions  so  irresistible  in  their 
violence  that  they  admit  of  no  subterfuges.  The 
rigorous  theorist  of  impassivity,  who  looks  upon  a 
public  avowal  of  personal  grief  as  "  vanity  and  gra- 
tuitous profanation,"  for  all  that,  sometimes  voices 
his  own  sorrows  with  a  vehemence  bordering  upon 
frenzy.  Even  into  Nihilism  does  he  bring  the 
rebellion   of  a  heart  exasperated   by  the   incurable 


Poetry.  361 

love  and  invincible  dread  of  life.  The  captive  lion 
ceases  to  eat  and  drink ;  the  wounded  wolf  mutely 
gnaws  the  knife  imbedded  in  his  bleeding  jaw.  The 
poet,  no  less  incapable  of  dying  than  of  forgetting, 
sighs  in  vain  for  Nirvana's  heavy  intoxication. 

In  vain  does  he  rebel  against  the  shame  of  thought 
and  feeling,  against  the  horror  of  manhood ;  the 
wound  which  he  presses  yields  tears  of  blood.  Nor 
does  the  hope  of  Nirvana  console  his  bruised  heart; 
he  questions  whether  death  is  not  a  supreme  illu- 
sion, whether  the  great  shadow  will  not  always  hang 
over  us.  On  holding  his  ear  to  the  tombs  the  cold 
night  air  wafts  up  moans.  Breathless  he  listens 
to  eternal  life  roaring  forever  throughout  endless 
time. 

Leconte  de  Lisle  will  never  be  a  popular  poet. 
His  erudite  archaism  embarrasses  his  readers;  his 
ideal  of  art  is  too  high  to  be  reached  by  the  vulgar; 
his  intellectual  aristocracy  holds  all  mediocre  minds 
at  bay.  He  has  also  expressed  the  "  malady  of  the 
century,"  not  as  a  sentimental  elegiac  lulling  his 
pain  to  rest,  but  as  the  inexorable  Nihilist  whose 
gloomy  despair  oppresses  our  souls,  whose  raging 
fervors  devour  our  sympathies.  Suffering  some- 
times wrings  cries  from  him,  but  he  neither  com- 
plains nor  wishes  to  be  pitied,  for  to  complain  is 
weakness,  and  to  be  pitied  a  disgrace.  Let  him 
who  will  beg  the  vulgar  pity  of  the  masses !  He 
will  not  sell  his  misfortune,  nor  will  he  deliver  up 
his  life  to  the  insults  of  curiosity.  He  will  not 
dance,  O  imbecile  plebeian,  upon  the  platform  of 
thy  strolling  players.      His  mute  pride  will  take  the 


362  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

place  of  glory.  Glory?  He  scorns  those  who  dis- 
pense it,  those  "  modernists  "  whom  the  assassin  age 
has  emasculated  in  the  cradle.  While  they  are 
filling  their  pockets,  the  poet  sings  a  hymn  to 
Beauty.  The  time  will  come  when  the  earth  shall 
be  torn  from  its  orbit,  and  crash  its  sorry  old  shell 
against  some  other  universe ;  but  the  changeless 
splendor  of  an  eternal  Beauty,  whose  high-priest  he 
is,  will  survive  the  ruin  of  our  globe,  and  other 
worlds  will  roll  beneath  its  white  feet. 

In  his  artist's  craft  Jose-Marie  de  Heredia  is  the 
most  to  be  admired  of  French  poets,  including  Mal- 
herbe,  who,  long  before  the  author  of  les  Trophees, 
had  made  a  just  cadence  felt,  and,  if  we  can  believe 
eminent  statisticians,  testified  to  his  respect  for  the 
Muse  by  composing  only  about  thirty  lines  a  year. 
But,  however  high  his  idea  of  art,  we  nevertheless 
find  many  mediocre  compositions  among  his  works, 
and,  even  in  his  finest  odes,  strophes  leaving  some- 
thing to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  finish.  With 
M.  de  Heredia,  on  the  contrary,  everything  is  rigor- 
ously beautiful.  There  are  no  defects,  no  poetical 
licenses,  and  not  one  feeble  or  commonplace  rhyme 
in  his  sonnets,  each  of  which  embodies  a  perfect 
technique  of  form  wonderfully  illustrated  by  an 
infallible  artist.  With  marvellous  concision  he 
sums  up  what  has  ever  been  purest  and  richest 
in  our  poetry.  After  the  tumultuous  effervescences 
of  Romantic  lyricism,  inspiration  had  been  reduced 
by  Leconte  de  Lisle  to  austere  rules.  His  work  was, 
however,   still   too  vast  and   too  confused.     M.  de 


Poetry.  363 

Heredia,  his  disciple,  has  also  written  his  Pdemes 
Barbares  and  Poemes  Antiques,  but,  like  jewels, 
he  has  encased  them  in  minute  settings.  The  son- 
net appeals  to  an  artist  fascinated  by  the  beautiful, 
both  on  account  of  its  brevity,  which  permits  of  no 
defect,  and  also  because  of  a  form  supposing  and 
demanding  something  definitive.  Now,  what  would 
be  the  raison  d'etre  of  poetry  if  its  aim  were  not  to 
arrive  at  perfection  ?  This,  M.  de  Heredia  realizes 
at  every  step.  In  three  aspects  is  he  a  poet,  —  as  a 
painter  in  the  brilliancy  of  his  coloring,  as  a  sculp- 
tor in  the  lines  of  his  contours,  and  as  a  musician  in 
the  sonority  and  harmony  of  his  rhythms.  All  the 
arts  are  combined  in  elaborating  the  beauty  of  his 
work. 

More  of  an  artist  than  a  poet  in  the  sense  in 
which  these  two  terms  are  opposed,  he  has  made 
poetry  a  miracle  of  workmanship.  He  has  avoided 
all  tenderness,  all  sympathy,  all  restlessness  of  mind. 
Sentiment  for  the  beautiful  is  the  only  emotion  he 
has  permitted  himself.  In  things  he  sees  but  a 
spectacle,  but  even  things  appear  to  him  only 
through  the  prestige  of  words.  He  prepares  him- 
self for  poetic  inspiration  by  searching  dictionaries 
for  sumptuous  words;  treatises  on  heraldic  art 
fascinate  him,  and  catalogues  of  precious  stones 
throw  him  into  exaltation.  With  him  everything 
is  luminous  and  sonorous;  there  are  no  silent, 
twilight  corners,  no  retreats  for  dreams.  The 
beauty  of  his  lines  bursts  upon  us  with  implacable 
splendor  and  ferocious  decision.  Is  it  an  infirm- 
ity in  our  nature,  a  suspicion  of  envy,  to  wish  to 


364  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

surprise  some  weakness,  if  only  to  show  our  indul- 
gence ?  But  his  sustained  magnificence  and  unfail- 
ing exactitude  deny  us  this  satisfaction.  He  never 
wearies  of  being  impeccant  and  triumphant;  his 
imperious  desire  for  a  superhuman  perfection  com- 
pels him  to  forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
divine  negligence.  It  has  been  said  that  M.  de 
Heredia  was  a  Greek.  This  cannot  be  true,  for 
in  that  case  he  would  have  more  sweetness, 
dulcia  suato,  as  said  a  Latin  who  was  almost  an 
Attic.  M.  de  Heredia  is  not  a  Greek ;  he  is  a 
Latin,  or  rather  a  Spaniard.  He  is  Spanish  in 
Spain  with  his  Conquerants,  but  he  is  not  less  so 
in  Italy  with  la  Dogaresse,  in  Brittany  with  Flori- 
dunt  mare,  and  in  Japan  with  le  Ddimio  or  le 
Samsurdi.  He  has  been  said  to  have  rendered 
the  diversity  of  times  and  places;  but  his  vision 
of  things  always  remains  the  same,  always  radiant 
and  heroic.  He  but  changes  his  scenery,  —  from 
Gothic  church  windows  to  Doric  capitals,  from 
the  furze  bush  of  the  moor  to  the  interlocked  cac- 
tus. His  scenery,  like  his  "  Trophies,"  always 
glitters  in  a  splendor  of  gorgeous  light. 

While  rendering  this  irreproachable  artist  the 
homage  of  an  admiration  wanting  only  in  that  it 
sometimes  wearies  us,  poetry  can  be  otherwise 
conceived.  For  the  Classicists  and  Parnassians 
poetry  is  little  more  than  prose, — a  prose  sub- 
mitted to  rules.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  with 
all  its  fantasies  and  audacities,  Romanticism  should 
eventually  culminate  in  the  triumph  of  discipline. 
M.  de  Heredia  is  a   flamboyant   Malherbe,  a  Mai- 


Poetry.  365 

herbe  who  has  followed  Victor  Hugo  as  the  former 
succeeded  Ronsard.  Let  us  seek  elsewhere  for  the 
true  poetry.  Far  from  being  an  imitation  of  the 
exterior  world,  its  real  domain  should  lie  rather 
in  what  is  too  vague  to  be  defined,  too  mysterious 
to  be  precisely  stated ;  what  does  not  stand  out 
with  relief,  can  neither  be  determined  with  so  much 
rigor  nor  expressed  with  such  perfect  clearness. 
It  should  be  an  exact  notation  of  forms  and  colors 
no  more  than  a  logical  equivalent  of  ideas.  It 
should  have  but  little  eclat,  and  make  no  noise ;  it  is 
not  to  be  resolved  into  dry  effects,  like  the  sounding 
of  trumpets,  but  will  insinuate  the  murmur  of  its 
penetrating  voice  into  the  depths  of  the  soul.* 

The  "  Parnassians  "  are  closely  allied  to  Leconte 
de  Lisle.  But,  before  characterizing  their  work  and 
determining  their  influence,  place  must  be  given  to 
a  poet  who  belongs  to  no  particular  group.  This 
poet,  who  has  opened  up  a  new  path,  is  the  first  in 
a  field  in  which  the  most  illustrious  representatives 
of  contemporary  poetry  have  followed  him  without 
allowing  his  name  to  be  forgotten. 

Two  volumes  by  Eugene  Manuel,  les  Pages  in- 
times  and  les  Pdemcs  pop7ilaires,  by  their  dates  and 
titles  sufficiently  indicate  in  what  this  originality 
consists. 

One  of  these  works  was  given  to  the  public  in 

^  The  translator  is  indebted  to  M.  Georges  Pellissier  for  his  kind- 
ness in  contributing  the  above  inedited  sketch  of  the  Cuban-born 
poet,  a  descendant  of  the  Spanish  Conquerors,  Jos^-Marie  de  Here- 
dia,  whose  sonnets  are  the  most  notable  addition  to  French  poetry 
since  the  publication  of  this  work. 


366  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

1866,  the  very  year  in  which  Coppee  pubhshed  le 
Reliquaire^  his  first  production  and  one  which  dif- 
fers essentially  from  them  in  inspiration.  Sully 
Prudhomme,  it  is  true,  had  just  brought  out  his 
Stances  et  Poemes,  one  division  of  which  is  entitled 
la  Vie  interieure.  However,  certain  selections  of 
les  Pages  intimes,  and  among  the  most  character- 
istic, V Aveugle,  le  Rosier^  and  le  Dhnenagement^ 
had  preceded  those  of  Sully  Prudhomme  by  sev- 
eral years,  having  already  been  inserted  in  the 
Revue  des  Deux-Mondes.  We  know  from  the  au- 
thor that  his  Poemes  populaires  had  almost  all  been 
printed  in  July  of  1870,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to 
state  that  most  of  them  were  written  long  before 
their  appearance.  Indeed,  the  greater  part  of  those 
which  mark  an  event  in  poetry  owed  a  "sort  of 
anticipated  publicity  to  the  incomparable  interpre- 
tation of  certain  artists."  Although  les  Humbles 
was  published  in  1871,  the  fact  must  not  be  over- 
looked that  Manuel  prepared  the  way  for  Coppee. 

"  Familiar "  poetry  had  come  in  with  Romanti- 
cism, and  "  popular "  poetry  had  long  before  in- 
spired Victor  Hugo's  epic  genius,  and  still  earlier 
Sainte-Beuve's  bourgeois  vein.  If  these  poems  were 
not  then  a  complete  innovation,  they  were,  at  least, 
original,  personal,  and  even  independent.  In  the 
full  triumph  of  "impassive  art"  they  reverted  to 
natural  emotions,  seeking  subjects  from  the  streets, 
hovels,  the  workshops,  and  hospitals.  Although 
the  poets  who  followed  Manuel  employed  a  more 
subtle  psychology  and  a  more  skilful  technique, 
none  have  equalled  him  in  sincerity  of  feeling,  just- 


Poetry.  367 

ness  of  tone,  and  the  close  accord  of  an  always  cor- 
rect, finished  form,  with  an  ever  tender,  noble,  and 
often  touching  inspiration.  In  view  of  this  his 
originality  is  so  much  the  more  significant.  Justly 
can  he  be  accused  of  excessive  modesty  when  he 
tries  to  make  us  believe  that  its  source  passes  un- 
observed because  it  makes  so  little  noise ;  but  how 
true  when  he  says  that  it  is  pure,  and  that  we  may 
drink  from  its  waters  !  Manuel  has,  indeed,  been 
the  "  poet  of  the  fireside "  in  his  Pages  intimes^ 
written  beside  that  very  hearth ;  so  also  even  in  the 
volume.  En  Voyage,  warmed  from  afar  by  its  rays. 
This  he  is  no  less  in  his  Poemes  popzdaires  and  in 
that  often  applauded  drama,  les  Ouvriers,  if  it  be  true 
that  the  fireside's  radiance  develops  all  the  virtues 
celebrated  by  the  moralist,  and  heals  all  the  wounds 
upon  which  the  friend  of  the  humble  lays  his  finger. 
He  is  the  same  in  Pendant  la  guerre,  if  it  be  also 
true  that  in  peril  and  mourning  the  domestic  hearth 
becomes  the  symbol  of  the  fatherland. 

The  author  of  les  Pages  intimes  and  les  Poemes 
populaires  has  at  times  enlarged  his  conception ;  in 
r Asce7ision,  la  Veillee  du  medecin,  and  la  Priere  des 
folks  both  rhythm  and  language  fall  spontaneously 
into  harmony  with  his  thought.  Though  these  and 
many  other  selections  prove  that  he  can  maintain 
the  highest  conceptions  without  vacillation,  the 
originality  of  his  delicate,  virile  genius  is  best  dis- 
played in  familiar  poetry.  Here  he  is  delicate  in 
his  tact,  in  his  judgment,  in  his  happy  blending  of 
shades,  in  what  relates  to  the  writer  as  well  as  to 
mankind,  and  also  in  the  tenderness  of  his  compas- 


368  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

sion.  Here  he  is  virile  in  his  scorn  for  artifice, 
embelhshment,  and  all  charlatanism,  in  his  desire 
to  express  sincerely  and  vigorously,  in  the  spirit  of 
valiant  morality  that  animates  his  entire  work,  in 
the  seriousness  of  his  sympathy,  the  wholesomeness 
of  his  pity,  and  in  what  is  sober  and  restrained  in 
his  strongest  emotions.  For  such  reasons  the 
name  of  Eugene  Manuel  should  live  as  that  of  a 
true  and  most  admirable  poet. 

Leconte  de  Lisle  was  the  leader  of  the  Parnas- 
sians; for  although  Gautier,  Banville,  and  Baude- 
laire had  been  the  initiators  of  this  school,  they  had 
in  great  part  received  their  discipline  from  him. 
The  contemporary  school  of  Parnassians  aimed  to 
defend  poetry,  on  the  one  side,  from  the  "imbecile 
weepers "  and  '*  bare-breasted  scoffers  "  which  the 
great  names  Lamartine  and  Musset  still  trailed 
after  them,  and  on  the  other,  from  utilitarians  who 
consented  to  admit  it  only  on  condition  that  it  should 
endeavor  to  vulgarize  the  applications  of  modern 
science.  It  was  the  guardian  of  an  art  that  arouses 
neither  tears  nor  laughter,  —  an  art  which  is  in 
itself  a  purpose.  It  recalled  its  generation  to  re- 
spect for  poetical  grammar  and  the  observation  of 
*'  consecrated  rules."  It  preached  disdain  for  facile 
successes,  and  condemned  all  careless  expressions, 
characterless  epithets,  and  feeble  or  commonplace 
rhymes.  As  the  superstitious  cult  of  the  Parnas- 
sians for  its  exterior  form  rendered  them  indifferent 
to  the  soul  of  poetry,  their  dexterity  necessarily  cul- 
minated  in   miracles   of  vain   mechanism.     If  they 


I 


Poetry.  369 

have  in  certain  respects  accomplished  much  for 
rhythm  and  language,  like  all  literary  coteries  they 
are  inevitably  destined  to  end  with  the  patois  of 
finical,  maniacal  stylists.  They  very  modestly  flat- 
ter themselves  upon  having  rendered  easier  for 
future  poets  a  finished  perfection,  the  secret  of 
which  they,  simple  artisans  in  composition,  have 
transmitted  to  them.  The  only  members  of  those 
first  formed  by  this  school  who  merit  the  name  of 
poet,  very  early  broke  away  from  it,  and  were  really 
only  worthy  of  being  so  called,  because  they  reacted 
against  a  poetry  sterilized  by  poverty  of  substance 
and  vitiated  by  refinement  of  form. 

Sully  Prudhomme  is  indebted  to  the  Parnassians 
and  their  boasted  "  renaissance  "  only  for  what  can 
tempt  a  refined,  scrupulous  poet,  whose  natural 
distinction  is  foreign  to  all  charlatanism.  His 
solicitude  for  faultless  composition  is  due  to  their 
influence.  Although  they  initiated  him  into  the 
secrets  of  composition,  as  he  himself  confesses,  their 
subtleties  did  not  lure  away  the  sincere  artist  for 
whom  the  natural  represents  honor.  His  concep- 
tion of  poetry  is  directly  opposed  to  the  dilettantism 
of  the  Parnassian  school.  While  they  see  in  art 
but  conventional  perfection,  he  nourishes  it  with 
thoughts  and  feelings.  He  possesses  a  depth  of 
moral  activity,  an  interest  in  the  inner  life,  a  love 
for  science  and  philosophy,  which  constitute  his 
work  the  most  substantial  of  all  that  has  been  pro- 
duced by  our  century. 

Here  and  there  words  of  discouragement  escape 

24 


3/0  Literary  Movemefit  in  France. 

him ;  and,  sometimes  attracted  by  Leconte  de  Lisle's 
Buddhism,  he  dreams  of  a  soft,  fresh  couch  whereon 
to  recline  his  weary  spirit.  These  are  but  fleeting 
desires,  as  soon  regretted ;  for  when  he  hears  the 
rumbling  of  cannon,  he  returns  ready  for  the  world's 
battle.  While  living  apart,  the  murmur  of  human 
misery  and  suffering  had  reached  his  ears.  Beset 
by  this  as  if  it  bore  the  burden  of  a  blame,  he  feels 
the  weiofht  of  fraternal  ties.  Not  less  disinterested 
in  the  pursuit  of  the  just  and  the  good  than  in  that 
of  beauty,  he  will  fight  for  his  gods,  though  others 
abandon  themselves  to  the  fatal  laws  of  the  universe. 
Faith  in  the  ideal  is  ever  a  principle  of  activity. 
Stimulated  by  this  militant  faith,  the  poet  proudly 
repulses  the  voluptuous  griefs  of  those  who  avow 
themselves  defeated  in  order  to  have  nothing  fur- 
ther to  combat.  He  seeks  the  force  which  builds, 
and,  not  finding  it  in  thee,  O  Musset,  forever  closes 
that  sad,  vague  book  which  exhales  thy  cowardly 
complaints  and  enervating  revulsions.  He  feels 
himself  a  man  among  men  and  a  patriot  in  his 
fatherland.  He  will  be  faithful  to  art  without  being 
faithless  to  his  city.  He  will  sanctify  the  cause  of 
beauty  by  the  cult  of  the  true  in  view  of  the  reign 
of  good.  The  first  of  the  two  most  considera- 
ble of  Sully  Prudhomme's  poems  terminates  by  a 
surstim  corda,  the  second  is  crowned  by  the  heroic 
apostolate  of  a  charity  fearing  no  martyrdom.  La 
Justice  is  man's  conquest  over  nature,  in  which 
happiness  can  be  found  only  in  effort. 

He  glorifies  action,  not  only  because  he  sees  in  it 
the  instrument  of  human  justice  and  happiness,  but 


Poetry.  371 

also  because  he  seeks  therein  a  remedy  for  the 
troubles  of  his  mind  and  the  sufferings  of  his  sensi- 
bility. His  soul,  however,  vainly  seeks  to  escape 
from  self ;  it  but  feeds  upon  its  own  substance.  Sully 
Prudhomme  is,  above  all  things,  an  interpreter  of 
the  inner  world.  To  the  expression  of  his  own  feel- 
ings he  applies  the  delicate  art  which  the  Parnas- 
sians employed  to  describe  exterior  nature.  He 
neither  vaunts  a  lofty  stoicism,  nor  tries  to  conceal 
his  heart's  anguish  by  futile  pride.  Man  has  need- 
of  hoping,  suffering,  and  weeping  on  the  breast  of  a 
friend.  In  breaking  away  from  affected  exoticism 
and  archaism,  he  returns  to  the  personal  poetry 
of  the  great  Romanticists,  renewing  a  now  common 
theme  by  more  curious  diction  and  more  subtle 
feelings.  Coming  at  the  close  of  the  century,  he 
has  scruples  2A\di  finesses  which  the  youth  of  Roman- 
ticism never  knew.  His  is  neither  the  spontaneous 
expansion  of  a  Lamartine  nor  the  stormy  outbursts 
of  a  Musset.  His  melancholy  is  not  expanded  in 
vague  effusions,  nor  does  his  passion  escape  in 
ardent  cries.  He  is  not  less  sincere  than  Lamar- 
tine or  Musset,  but  his  emotion  is  more  reflective. 
He  brings  an  infinitely  delicate  psychology  even 
into  lyricism.  His  analysis  penetrates  the  most 
secret  and  most  subtle  elements  of  the  inner  life. 
His  moral  as  well  as  his  artistic  scruples  are  averse 
to  all  rhetoric.  There  is  a  certain  modesty  even  in 
his  most  personal  confidences.  He  is  the  singer  of 
suave  tenderness,  gentle  pity,  and  subtle  melan- 
choly. His  poetry  resembles  those  wild  blossoms 
whose    modest,    appealing   charm    he    has   himself 


372  Literary  Moveme7ii  in  Fra?ice. 

voiced.  Though  gorgeous  hot-house  flowers  may 
exhale  more  intoxicating  perfumes,  only  in  kissing 
the  violet  can  we  learn  the  sweetness  of  a  flower 
not  without  its  own  pure  grace. 

In  the  first  volume  of  this  poet  of  refined  sensi- 
bility we  find  evidence  of  a  mind  preoccupied  by 
contemporary  science,  not  only  in  its  higher  inqui- 
ries, but  also  as  regards  its  positive  applications.  He 
feels  his  isolation  even  in  the  midst  of  society.  To- 
day there  is  no  Amphion's  voice  to  cause  cities  to 
spring  up.  To  the  Amphions  of  the  present  the 
world  replies  that  we  must  "  civilize  "  ourselves ;  that 
it  desires  workers,  not  idle  dreamers.  While  the 
Parnassians  professed  scorn  for  all  culture  foreign 
to  their  art,  Sully  Prudhomme  sought  to  effect  the 
union  of  poetry  with  science.  Having  been  trained 
in  all  the  scientific  refinements  of  style,  the  subtle 
versifier  sings  of  Iron  and  celebrates  the  Wheel. 
From  modern  discoveries,  and  even  from  industrial 
machines,  does  he  demand  a  new  species  of  poetry, 
both  severe  and  descriptive,  having  its  scrupulous 
precision  of  form  discreetly  illustrated  by  figures. 
The  poet  sometimes  delights  in  a  contest  with  prose, 
in  which  the  most  skilful  rhymer  could  not  equal 
him.  The  pitfall  of  scientific  poetry  lies  in  a  perfec- 
tion which  the  prose  writer  masters  without  effort, 
but  which  the  poet  can  only  attain  through  miracles 
of  patient,  laborious  art.  To  tax  one's  ingenuity  to 
set  in  verse  a  law,  an  axiom,  or  a  definition  more 
naturally  expressed  in  prose,  is  a  mental  exercise 
quite  as  sterile  as  difficult.  Though  Sully  Prud- 
homme has  now  and  then  amused  himself  with  these 


Poetry,  373 

feats  of  skill,  it  was  not  to  display  a  futile  dexterity. 
In  carrying  into  the  sphere  of  thought  the  same  re- 
jfinement  brought  to  sentiment  by  his  heart  and  to 
morality  by  his  conscience,  his  mind  is  drawn  on  in 
the  pleasure  of  pushing  analysis  to  its  conclusion. 
His  anxiety  for  absolute  accuracy  and  propriety 
have,  doubtless,  now  and  then  misled  him,  yet  he 
owes  some  of  his  most  beautiful  inspirations  to 
science.  Les  Ecuries  d' Augias,  le Rendez-vous,  and 
le  Zenith  are  models  of  scientific  poetry.  Here  Sully 
Prudhomme  allies  a  lyricism  which  animates  his 
verse  to  a  solicitude  for  descriptive  exactitude  which 
amounts  to  technical  austerity. 

Science  does  not  entirely  consist  in  fixed  solutions. 
It  satisfies  the  mind  by  giving  it  possession  of  infal- 
lible certitude ;  but  beyond  dry  formulas  and  cate- 
gorical proofs  it  opens  to  the  imagination  a  distant 
perspective  in  which  our  dreams  may  find  refuge. 
All  its  researches  lead  up  to  the  infinite.  Although 
those  times  no  longer  exist  when  such  dreamers  as 
Millet  and  Elee  sought  to  encircle  the  universe  in  a 
wild  embrace,  the  great  mystery  troubles  the  poet's 
soul  now  no  less  than  formerly.  He  is  of  those 
who  are  haunted  by  the  infinite.  Step  by  step  the 
retort  and  telescope  have  pursued  its  secret.  The 
poet  sings  of  the  chemist  who  sounds  the  caprices 
of  secret  forces,  of  the  astronomer  who,  from  the 
high  tower  where  Truth  keeps  sentinel,  commands 
the  dishevelled  star  to  reappear  within  a  thousand 
years.  Who  else  will  with  one  blow  tear  the  veil 
from  the  ancient  Isis }  The  boat  of  the  aeronauts, 
soliciting  the  eternal  enigma,  rises  and  mounts  to- 


374  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

wards  the  zenith.  Following  it  breathlessly  into  the 
abyss  of  boundless  silence,  the  poet  bursts  out  into 
the  song  with  which  science  inspires  poetry,  and 
which  poetry  sings  to  science. 

The  accord  between  science  and  poetry  which 
Sully  Prudhomme  has  so  happily  brought  about  is 
also  evident  in  his  sentimental  "criticism,"  in  which 
he  makes  the  heart's  enthusiasms  and  the  revela- 
tions of  the  conscience  the  supreme  culmination  of 
analytical  investigations.  The  poet  knows  no  other 
than  the  experimental  method ;  and  as  neither  inter- 
nal nor  external  experience  can  solve  the  great  prob- 
lems which  present  themselves  to  us,  he  resigns 
himself  to  ignorance.  Should  science,  therefore, 
remain  inactive  ?  Certainly  not.  Let  it  search  for 
knowledge  with  full  consciousness  of  its  limitations. 
Let  it  be  on  guard  against  all  rash  anticipation, 
seeking  Truth  neither  in  the  vain  hypotheses  of  met- 
aphysics nor  in  the  deceptive  suggestions  of  senti- 
ment. Its  work  is  to  multiply  ceaselessly  by  continu- 
ally condensing  the  data  of  experience,  in  order  to 
grasp  truths  more  and  more  essential  to  the  object  of 
such  investigations. 

This  is  the  general  import  of  the  preface  which 
Sully  Prudhomme  has  given  to  his  translation  of 
Lucretius.  It  was,  indeed,  the  manifesto  of  a  jealous 
Positivism  begrudging  both  poetry  and  metaphysics. 
Ten  years  later  he  reprints  this  severe  essay  "  in  order 
to  give  the  reader  an  opportunity  of  noting  the  influ- 
ence of  his  early  studies  in  la  justice''  The  preface 
is  that  of  a  philosopher;  the  poem,  that  of  a  poet. 
He  seeks  in  vain  for  absolute  as  well  as  for  relative 


Poetry.  375 

justice,  finding  it  neither  in  heaven  nor  on  earth.  If 
the  philosopher  had  been  true  to  the  spirit  of  his 
preface,  he  would  have  terminated  the  poem  with  a 
nesration.  Silence  heart !  he  cries  at  the  outset. 
Then  follows  a  dialogue  between  the  Seeker  and  the 
Voice.  The  Seeker  closes  his  ear  to  the  appeals  of 
the  Voice,  repulses  the  consolations  it  offers  him, 
and  mocks  the  proofless  beliefs  it  forces  upon  him. 
When  he  has  everywhere  relentlessly  pursued  im- 
placable Science  without  discovering  a  sign  of  the 
Justice  for  which  he  sighs,  he  retreats  into  himself  to 
listen  to  Conscience.  Conscience  speaks  the  same 
language  as  does  the  Voice.  Justice  lies  within  the 
soul,  as  he  had  been  assured  in  the  beginning  by  the 
Voice.  Weary  of  fruitless  wanderings,  repelled  on 
every  side  by  the  exterior  world,  the  Seeker  finds 
indisputable  evidence  in  that  Conscience  whose  very 
authority  he  had  so  far  challenged.  "  To  all  the 
truth  he  feels  he  resigns  the  little  he  conceives,"  and 
with  weeping  eyes  performs  an  act  of  faith. 

The  heart  and  reason  are  at  variance.  This  an- 
tagonism absorbs  Sully  Prudhomme,  and  his  entire 
philosophy  tends  towards  the  reconciliation  of  these 
two  hostile  forces.  Indeed,  this  problem  is  pro- 
posed in  his  first  work.  In  one  of  the  poems  of 
la  Vie  interieure  Reason  addresses  the  Heart:  "See 
how  evil  triumphs  everywhere.  Our  world  has  no 
Great  Father."  "  I  believe,  I  feel  God,"  replies  the 
Heart.  "  Prove  it,"  demands  Reason.  This  is  the 
plan  followed  out  by  the  poet  in  la  Justice.  In 
the  heart  he  finally  finds  the  proof  for  which  rea- 
son seeks. 


376  Literary  Movement  in  Frajice. 

The  spark  from  the  brain  unites  with  the  flash 
that  shoots  from  the  heart,  before  which  all  ob- 
scurity disappears.  The  heart  has  reasons  superior 
to  reason  itself.  Not  only  is  it  a  firebrand  from 
the  hearth ;  it  is  also  a  torch.  Our  reason  only  in- 
definitely defers  the  solution  of  problems  which  our 
heart  solves  with  one  effort:  "  By  dint  of  loving  we 
find  what  we  seek."  Science  cannot  prove  justice, 
neither  can  it  procure  happiness.  Happiness  with- 
out love  is  no  more  possible  to  man  than  justice. 
Through  all  the  delights  of  the  senses  Faustus  is 
tormented  by  the  desire  of  knowledge.  When  he 
finally  possesses  knowledge,  he  finds  it  cold  and 
empty.  The  universe  has  no  further  secrets  for 
him,  yet  he  is  not  happy.  Plaintive  voices  rise  to 
him;  he  again  descends  upon  earth  to  heal,  or  at 
least  console,  man's  sorrows.  At  last  he  finds  in 
love  that  happiness  which  neither  pleasure  nor 
science  could  give  him. 

Although  the  triumph  of  the  heart  over  the 
mind,  and  faith  over  reason,  is  the  culmination  of 
his  philosophy,  Sully  Prudhomme  does  not  hesitate 
to  push  criticism  farther  than  any  of  the  poets  who, 
before  him,  considered  the  same  questions.  Victor 
Hugo  is  a  seer,  a  prophet.  He  enters  into  the  spirit 
of  the  Great  Book,  penetrating  even  into  the  tab- 
ernacle of  the  unknown.  Lamartine  but  diffuses 
his  soul  in  mystical  exaltations.  Vigny  evokes  ideal 
figures  which  first  symbolize  his  conception.  The 
author  of  le  Bonheur  and  la  justice  differs  from 
them  in  that  his  philosophical  poems  are  veritable 
researches.     Although  he  leaves  the  last  word  to 


I 


Poetry.  377 

the  heart's  intuitions,  analysis  is  none  the  less  the 
natural  process  of  his  mind.  He  calls  himself  the 
Seeker.  His  inquiries  are  pursued  with  a  sincerity 
that  scorns  all  artifice,  and  a  simplicity  that  rejects 
all  miseen  scene.  Step  by  step  we  follow  his  thought, 
and  this  is  what  constitutes  the  substance  of  his 
work. 

Does  the  artist  in  Sully  Prudhomme  equal  the 
thinker.?  The  poet's  form  is  more  especially  to  be 
criticised  in  his  philosophical  works.  He  is  at  times 
strained  and  laborious,  pushing  brevity  even  to  ob- 
scurity, precision  even  to  fastidiousness.  These 
faults  are  those  of  a  literary  conscience  considering 
precision  and  fulness  of  expression  before  all  else. 
He  knows  that  "words  resemble  vessels,"  that  "the 
most  beautiful  are  not  filled  to  overflowing;"  his 
loyal  mind  leaves  none  of  those  he  employs  empty, 
but  rather  pours  into  each  its  full  meaning.  Hence 
his  verse  sometimes  seems  overcharged.  Poetry 
placed  at  the  service  of  science  necessarily  contracts 
something  prosaic.  Le  Bonheur  and  la  jfustice  are 
certainly  not  solely  didactic  treatises,  for  the  heart 
here  concerns  itself  in  the  highest  question  of  the 
mind.  However,  the  language  of  the  truly  scientific 
portions  of  these  poems  being  necessarily  exact,  it 
could  not  well  avoid  abstraction,  and  the  poet  has 
too  great  a  regard  for  exactitude  to  retreat  before 
abstraction. 

Despite  the  faults  into  which  Sully  Prudhomme's 
scrupulous  probity  leads  him.,  he  is,  for  all  that,  an 
admirable  artist.  This  he  is  in  the  purity  of  his 
contours,  the  justness  of  his  figures,  and  the  sweet- 


378  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

ness  of  his  harmonies.  To  render  ideas,  his  style 
possesses  the  rectitude  of  sureness  of  touch ;  to  ex- 
press sentiments,  modulations  of  infinite  delicacy. 
Others  possess  more  force,  breadth,  and  richness ; 
no  one  has  learned  the  secret  of  a  more  choice, 
refined,  and  distinctive  perfection. 

Like  Sully  Prudhomme,  Coppee  first  joined  the 
Parnassians.  To  Leconte  de  Lisle,  "  his  beloved 
master,"  he  dedicated  his  Reliqtiaire.  He  wrote  in 
his  youth  more  than  six  thousand  lines  which  have 
never  seen  the  light  of  day.  These  were  submitted 
to  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Parnassians,  who 
pointed  out  his  faults,  and  the  young  poet  cele- 
brated his  entrance  among  their  group  by  an  auto- 
da-fe  of  all  his  works.  The  first  volume  which  he 
published  showed  that  the  artist  had  mastered  all 
the  finesses  of  his  trade.  Among  contemporary 
writers  of  verse  Coppee  is  incontestably  one  of 
those  who  handle  it  with  the  utmost  skill.  There 
are  no  traces  in  him  of  those  difificulties  which  too 
often  confuse  and  trouble  us  in  Sully  Prudhomme. 
Indeed,  while  Sully  Prudhomme  is  straining  every 
nerve,  Coppee  appears  to  be  playing.  His  art  is 
scholarly  enough  to  seem  facile,  and  ingenious 
enough  to  appear  simple.  With  the  poetical  phrase 
he  does  what  he  wishes.  He  unrolls  its  whole 
length,  cuts  it,  breaks  it  off,  or  bends  it  into  sin- 
uous folds.  By  the  inflection  of  rhythm  he  ex- 
presses what  is  most  imperceptible  in  sentiment. 
For  him  words  have  more  than  meaning;  they 
possess  sonorous  souls.     He  knows  not  only  what 


Poetry.  379 

they  say,  but  what  their  modulations  convey.  To 
precision  of  design,  his  verses  unite  the  vague 
charm  of  music.  However,  in  order  to  make 
possible  the  perpetual  miracle  of  his  versification, 
the  former  labors  of  the  Romantic  school,  from 
the  "Cenacle"  of  1820  to  the  Parnassians,  were 
necessary. 

Coppee  is  the  disciple  of  the  Parnassians  in  all 
that  concerns  the  exterior  form  of  poetry,  but  he 
almost  immediately  separated  from  them  in  the 
choice  of  his  subjects  and  still  further  in  his  sin- 
cerity of  treatment.  In  his  works  we  find  many 
compositions  of  pure  form,  but  their  only  interest  for 
us,  as  for  the  poet,  lies  in  the  perfection  of  their 
style  and  versification.  But  this  subtle  artist  does 
not  submit  poetry  to  descriptive  methods  ;  nor  does 
he  separate  it  from  personal,  domestic  life.  The 
Parnassians  affected  insensibility,  or,  at  least, 
limited  themselves  to  unusual  or  refined  sensations. 
While  pushing  scruples  of  form  quite  as  far  as 
they,  Coppee  expresses  emotions  accessible  to  the 
masses  and  relates  every-day  events  in  a  scholarly 
language.  This  explains  his  popularity.  Those 
who  overlook  the  marvels  of  an  exquisite  art  find 
in  his  works  a  winning  grace  and  tenderness,  as  well 
as  a  descriptive  truth,  which  they  can  justly 
appreciate  because  the  painter's  models  are  before 
their  eyes. 

At  first  Coppee  employed  all  tones  and  all  styles. 
Le  Reliquaire  was  the  "  chapel  of  perfumes  and 
melancholy  tapers  "  of  his' first  dreams.  The  broken- 
hearted youth  who   mourns   his  frank   kisses    and 


o 


80  Literary  Alovement  in  France. 


early  faith,  not  without  a  certain  complacency  con- 
fesses the  vain  pleasures  which  have  tarnished  the 
holy  purity  of  his  soul,  and  dreams  of  a  wise, 
pious  maiden  whose  love  will  be  his  redemption. 
In  his  Poemes  divers  he  passes  from  the  Spanish 
juggler  twirling  copper  daggers  about  his  head,  to 
the  old  village  crones  who  sit  all  day  long  on  a 
stone  bench  drinking  in  the  cool  rays  of  the 
autumn  sun  with  childlike  smiles.  Then  he 
describes  the  stained  window  of  a  church,  and  tells 
how  a  very  high  and  powerful  Lord  Gotlob, 
surnamed  the  Brutal,  Baron  of  Hildburghausen 
and  hereditary  Margrave  of  Schlotemsdorff,  was 
strangled  there  in  1403.  After  having  sighed  a 
gentle  ritornello  of  love  and  poetry,  he  sounds 
the  war-song  of  a  Circassian  chief  thrusting  his 
pistols  in  his  belt  and  girding  on  his  Caimacan 
sabre  for  the  battle. 

There  is  more  unity  in  the  collection  which 
follows.  Here  Coppee  remains  faithful  to  one  of 
his  noblest  themes,  —  that  of  familiar  inspiration. 
The  title  of  this  volume  recalls  Sully  Prudhomme's 
earliest  poems ;  but  while  in  addition  to  refinement 
of  heart,  la  Vie  interieure  also  expresses  the  highest 
preoccupations  of  thought  and  the  noblest  scruples 
of  conscience,  les  Intimites  relate  but  the  trivial 
affectations  of  love.  Not  even  in  pure  sentiment 
does  Coppee  possess  the  virile  grace  or  exquisite 
chastity  of  Sully  Prudhomme,  nor  yet  his  pene- 
trating subtlety  of  psychological  analysis.  The 
charm  of  his  verse  consists  in  a  tender,  languid 
benevolence.     The  poet  further  delights  in  certain 


Poetry.  381 

studied  refinements  which  betray  his  affiliation  with 
the  Parnassians.  When  he  finally  returns  to 
familiar  life,  he  displays  less  art  and  simpler 
methods. 

As  M.  Scherer  says,  Coppee  "  is  essentially  a  con- 
teur^  After  his  Poemes  divers  he  attempts  heroic 
narration  in  Ic  yusticier.  La  Benediction  and  les 
Poemes  modernes  are  efforts  in  the  same  line.  Later 
he  produces  his  Recits  et  Elegies,  in  which  the  epic 
inspiration  dominates.  This  is  not  his  most  origi- 
nal vein,  for  in  these  little  epopees,  which  recall  not 
only  its  subject,  but  even  its  style  and  movement, 
we  perceive  his  imitation  of  la  Legende  des  siecles. 
He  could  not,  however,  compete  with  Victor  Hugo 
in  force  and  brilliancy.  He  seeks  to  simplify  him- 
self; but  this  very  simplicity,  which  betrays  affecta- 
tion, is  sometimes  out  of  keeping  with  the  grandeur 
of  the  deeds  or  characters  he  places  before  us,  and 
too  easily  inclines  towards  parody.  His  happiest 
poems  are  domestic  scenes  and  humble  legends. 
Here  Coppee  is  himself,  and  this  is  why  U7t  Evan- 
gile  is  to  be  preferred  to  Pharaon  and  Vincent  de 
Paul  to  les  Deux  Tombeaux. 

Coppee  found  his  true  field  in  familiar  narration. 
His  Poemes  7nodernes,  his  first  efforts  in  this  line, 
were  later  followed  by  les  Humbles  and  Olivier.  Les 
Pi'omenades  et  interieures  contain  more  genre  pic- 
tures than  narratives,  and  these  pictures  from  actual 
e very-day  reality  form  one  of  the  most  significant 
volumes  of  the  poet's  work.  It  has  already  been 
noted  how  Manuel  sought  inspiration  from  the 
commonplaces  of  modern  life  and  celebrated  base 


382  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

heroes  in  surroundings  quite  as  wretched.  Fran9ois 
Coppee's  style  recalls  that  of  Joseph  Delorme  and 
les  Pensees  d'aoiit.  It  is  evident  that  Sainte-Beuve 
was  always  one  of  his  favorite  poets.  He  reads  him 
even  in  the  "blue  room"  of  les  Intimites.  The  au- 
thor of  Monsieur  Jean  exercised  a  marked  influence 
upon  that  of  V Angelus.  Although  his  superior  in 
all  that  pertains  to  psychology,  we  find  in  Sainte- 
Beuve's  verses  something  involved,  strained,  and 
sickly  that  we  do  not  find  in  Coppee,  with  whom 
he  can  be  compared  neither  as  a  poet  nor  as  a 
narrator. 

Coppee  excels  in  painting  the  types  of  ordinary 
life,  and  more  especially  of  the  lower  grades  of  so- 
ciety. In  /^  Reliquaire  we  have  the  saint,  a  white- 
haired  maiden,  who  has  sacrificed  youth  and  beauty 
to  nurse  an  invalid  brother  for  ten  years.  In  les 
Poemes  divers  it  is  the  aged  grandparents  warming 
themselves  in  the  sun's  rays,  with  hands  joined  over 
their  staff.  In  les  Intimites  it  is  the  little  flower-girl 
shivering  in  a  doorway,  while  she  offers  her  violets 
with  hands  crisped  by  the  cold.  The  two  following 
volumes  are  consecrated  to  obscure  miseries,  humble 
affections,  and  hidden  happiness.  A  nurse,  on  re- 
turning to  her  village,  finds  the  cradle  of  her  dead 
child  in  a  corner ;  two  ancient  shopkeepers  retire  to 
a  cottage  in  the  country,  having  a  garden-plot, 
where  the  husband  wanders  about  with  a  sickle  in 
his  hand,  and  his  wife  knits  beneath  their  shade- 
tree  ;  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  public  garden,  a 
maid-servant  and  soldier,  already  consoled  by  love, 
exchange   confidences,  —  these  are  the  heroes  our 


Poetry.  383 

poet  loves.  He  is  sincerely  interested  in  them ;  he 
is  touched  by  the  anguish  of  his  nurse,  envies  the 
happiness  of  his  retired  shopkeepers,  nor  does  he 
find  the  love  idyl  of  his  maid-servant  and  her  soldier 
lover  ridiculous. 

Coppee  has  remained  naive  at  heart.  During  the 
first  effervescence  of  youth,  he  often  imagined  for 
himself  a  "very  long,  very  calm,  very  bourgeois"' 
happiness.  At  thirty  he  wished  to  be  the  vicar  of  a 
peaceful  country  parish,  or  a  member  of  some  pro- 
vincial academy;  as  if  this  "pale  offspring  of  old 
Paris  "  could  really  consent  to  exile  !  He  loves  his 
Paris  with  an  "  unwholesome  affection."  Facing 
the  vast  sea  of  snowy  peaks,  he  dreams  of  barren 
shores,  of  a  corner  of  Bievre.  He  sings  of  the 
streets  and  sidewalks  of  the  great  city  at  the  hour 
when  its  shopkeepers  take  their  airing,  when  its 
faubourgs  are  full  of  scuffling  children.  Particularly 
does  he  love  its  black  roads  strewn  with  oyster- 
shells,  and  its  old  stony  walls  with  dandelions  trem- 
bling in  their  niches,  to  be  found  beyond  the  city's 
limits.  He  is  the  painter  of  the  Parisian  suburbs. 
He  knows  their  bare  wastes,  where  ropes  are  tied  to 
the  trunks  of  stunted  poplars  on  which  to  dry  cot- 
ton and  flannel ;  their  taverns,  on  whose  signs  are 
painted  a  dead  rabbit  and  three  billiard-balls.  He 
compares  the  good-night  of  the  nests  at  sunset  to 
the  sizzling  of  an  immense  frying. 

Coppee's  originality  consists  in  that  he  has  found 
all  that  the  poet  who  wishes  to  return  to  simplicity 
can  discover  in  the  most  modest  types  and  in  the 
most  despised   and  often  the  most   thankless  sur- 


384  Literary  Movement  in  France^ 

roundings.  With  his  poet's  dehcate  talent,  he  rep- 
resents that  Reahsm  which  has  successively  invaded 
all  literary  styles.  Besides  the  finished  art  of  the 
versifier,  he  has  also  brought  to  our  poetry  a  de- 
scriptive style,  which,  without  grandeur,  has  a  pene- 
trating chann  quite  its  own.  Above  all  has  he 
displayed  a  gentle  sympathy  for  the  humble  world, 
in  which  he  finds  his  happiest  motifs  and  his  most 
personal  inspirations. 


Criticism.  385 


CHAPTER    III. 

CRITICISM. 

CRITICISM,  which  was  formerly  an  art,  and 
thus  the  exercise  of  refined  taste,  tended,  from 
the  time  of  Madame  de  Stael,  towards  science. 
More  and  more  influenced  by  the  growing  histor- 
ical spirit,  during  the  second  half  of  the  century 
it  comes  to  consider  literary  works  merely  as 
"  signs  "  or  documents,  especially  instructive  regard- 
ing man.  Through  the  intervention  of  that  Positive 
philosophy  which  follows  spiritualism,  it  gradually 
becomes  more  "  natural "  both  in  spirit  and  method. 

Criticism  so  conceived  finds  its  acknowledged 
theorist  and  most  characteristic  representative  in 
Taine,  who  is,  as  he  himself  confesses,  but  the 
"disciple"  of  Sainte-Beuve.  Indeed,  we  find  in 
the  author  of  the  Ltmdis  all  those  views,  either 
expressed  or  exposed,  which  Taine  was  to  co-ordinate 
into  an  exact  system. 

All  but  a  physiologist  by  profession,  Sainte- 
Beuve  never  ceased  to  follow  the  natural  bent  of 
his  mind  furthered  by  education.  "  What  I  wished 
to  do,"  he  says,  "was  to  Introduce  poetr)-'  into 
criticism,  together  with  something  from  physiol- 
ogy."    He    calls    himself   a  "  naturalist  of   minds," 

25 


386  Literary  Movement  in  France, 

and  his  work  a  "natural  history."  In  1840  he 
writes  that  no  one  can  truly  criticise  without  the 
aid  of  physiology  and  sometimes  even  of  surgery. 
Whatever  importance  he  may  attribute  to  the 
temperament  of  writers,  to  their  moods  or  their 
conditions  of  health,  he  is  not,  therefore,  a  fatalist. 
Though  the  principal  data,  physiological  conditions 
do  not  explain  everything.  He  reserves  a  place 
for  liberty,  and  his  judgment  tells  him  that  in 
making  a  science  of  criticism  it  is  not  well  to 
consider  minds  in  the  same  manner  as  we  should 
bodies;  for  the  study  of  minds  could  neither  be 
submitted  to  the  same  severity  of  method,  nor 
would  it  furnish  the  same  exact  results. 

On  the  other  hand,  Sainte-Beuve  early  marked 
the  need  of  "  delving  deeper  in  the  line  of  historical 
criticism."  In  fact,  in  respect  to  ancient  and  mod- 
ern books,  he  has  never  wished  the  "  reader  to  be  like 
a  guest  before  whom  good  and  bad  fruit  is  placed." 
What  interests  him  most  of  all  is  the  author's 
character,  —  what  is  most  individual  in  his  person- 
ality. Less  a  historian  than  a  biographer,  he 
understands  history  from  a  moralist's  rather  than 
from  a  philosopher's  point  of  view.  He  gives  no 
thought  to  the  building  of  vast  theories ;  the  more 
general  the  theories,  the  more  he  distrusts  them. 
He  does  not  even  look  for  formulas  to  apply  to 
different  classes  of  minds  and  talents.  He  paints 
literary  portraits  without  doubting  that  a  correct 
nomenclature  will  eventually  be  found,  or  that  time 
will  introduce  into  the  immense  variety  of  artistic 
productions  "something  of  that  luminous  life  and 


Criticism.  387 

order  which  presides  over  the  distribution  of 
natural  families  in  botany  and  zoography."  In 
composing  those  infinitely  subtle  biographies  to 
which  he  brings  such  an  exquisite  sense  of  shades, 
he  is  satisfied  with  making  preparation  for  this 
future  classification. 

In  addition,  he  values  works  not  only  as  histor- 
ical documents,  but  also  for  the  real  pleasure  which 
they  procure  him.  He  broke  away  at  the  outset 
from  all  rhetorical  limitations;  but,  in  rejecting 
the  decisions  of  rhetoricians,  he  does  not  believe 
that  the  time  has  passed  for  "  those  who  value  true 
taste."  For  him  the  greater  part  of  the  critic's  art 
consists  in  "knowing  how  to  read  a  book  by  judg- 
ing it  as  we  proceed,  without  ceasing  to  enjoy  it." 

In  fact,  nothing  could  be  freer  than  his  manner 
of  doing  this.  He  has  often  defined  his  method. 
He  takes  a  subject  from  reading  or  conversation, 
and  exposes  it  as  the  facts  naturally  occur  to  him. 
According  to  his  opinion,  the  best  and  most 
agreeable  criticism  is  that  which  "  does  not  interpret 
fine  works  by  crushing,  but  by  lightly  pressing 
them ; "  in  fine,  it  is  that  criticism  which  is  as  it 
were  an  "emanation  from  books." 

Of  criticism  Taine  makes  a  positive  science,  hav- 
ing the  general  philosophy  of  the  human  mind  for 
its  object.  In  the  search  for  causes,  its  method 
is  the  rigorous  analysis  of  the  naturalist,  and,  in 
the  application  of  laws,  the  systematical  deductions 
of  geometry. 

Taine  is  not  interested  in  a  work  of  art  for  itself, 


388  Literary  Move^neiit  in  France. 

but  in  what  ideas  it  can  furnish  him  regarding  the 
society  in  which  it  was  produced.  To  him  man 
represents  an  animal  of  a  higher  class,  who  com- 
poses poems  and  philosophies  as  bees  build  their 
hives.  He  therefore  considers  these  poems  and 
philosophies  as  a  naturalist  regards  hives;  but, 
instead  of  encouraging  us  to  follow  the  example  of 
bees  or  teaching  us  to  admire  their  skill,  he  takes 
one  and  dissects  it.  Examining  the  construction 
of  its  organs,  he  tries  to  discover  to  what  class  it 
belongs,  and  how  it  collects  and  converts  the  pollen 
of  flowers  into  honey.  He  eliminates  from  his 
analysis  not  only  all  notion  of  good,  but  also  every 
purely  literary  conception  of  beauty.  If  the  nat- 
uralist finds  no  fault  with  the  disproportion  between 
the  small  body  and  long  legs  of  the  heron,  or 
between  the  large  wings  and  small  feet  of  the  sea- 
swallow,  so  should  the  critic,  who  is  the  naturalist 
of  souls,  accept  and  attempt  to  explain  all  the 
phases  of  the  soul.  Taine,  doubtless,  values  more 
highly  a  work  that  is  beautiful.  In  fact,  he  declares 
that  literary  works  are  instructive  because  they  are 
beautiful,  that  their  utility  increases  with  their 
degree  of  perfection.  However,  since  his  criterion 
of  beauty  consists  in  the  number  of  "  important 
sentiments  "  found  in  books,  by  reversing  the  terms, 
it  can  be  said  that  literary  works  are  beautiful  to 
him  because  they  are  instructive.  He  makes  a 
study  of  literatures,  for  the  reason  that  he  finds 
them  the  truest  and  most  expressive  pictures 
of  former  conditions  of  society.  In  becoming  a 
"litterateur,"  he  remains  a  historian. 


Criticism.  389 

He  sees  in  nature  no  differences  that  separate 
the  moral  from  the  physical  world.  The  most  com- 
plicated moral  phenomena  can  neither  be  as  easily 
observed  nor  as  accurately  defined,  yet  they  never- 
theless belong  to  the  same  class  as  physical  phe- 
nomena. Whatever  distinction  may  be  established 
between  human  and  natural  history,  since  both  sub- 
mit to  the  same  organic  laws,  the  same  method  must 
be  applied  to  each. 

Historical  documents,  as  Taine  says,  indicate  how 
the  visible  individual  should  be  reconstructed.  Doc- 
uments are  studied  for  the  purpose  of  understanding 
man,  and  real  history  begins  only  when  the  historian 
imagines  corporeal  man.  Corporeal  man  is,  for  all 
that,  but  the  means  of  arriving  at  the  knowledge  of 
invisible  man.  The  historian  sees  in  costumes,  fur- 
niture, and  houses  but  the  tastes  and  habits  which 
they  denote.  Just  so  does  he  consider  written 
documents  solely  for  the  purpose  of  measuring 
the  scope  and  limit  of  minds.  In  what  manner 
does  he  proceed  ?  Exactly  in  the  same  manner 
as  the  naturalist  proceeds  in  his  field.  He  ob- 
serves little  moral  actions,  just  as  the  naturalist 
does  little  physical  actions.  After  having  noted 
a  multitude  of  these  actions,  he  divides  them  into 
distinct  groups,  assigning  to  each  a  special  formula. 
Classing  these  formulas  according  to  the  relative 
value  of  the  ideas  which  the  groups  represent,  and 
according  to  the  degree  of  causation  which  naturally 
subordinates  these  ideas  to  each  other,  he  rises,  step 
by  step,  to  a  higher  formula.  This  higher  formula 
explains  the  whole  individual.     Certain  characteris- 


390  Literary  Movement  iii  France. 

tics  of  animals  or  vegetables  are  of  little  importance, 
while  others  are  of  great  significance  in  determining 
their  entire  economy,  —  for  example,  the  structure 
of  concentric  layers  in  plants,  or  the  organization 
around  the  chain  of  vertebrae  in  animals.  So  are 
there  also  accessory  characteristics  in  the  human 
individual,  while  others  prevail  and  determine  the 
direction  of  life.  As  examples  of  the  latter  class, 
note  the  preponderating  presence  of  ideas  and 
images  in  certain  minds,  or  their  varying  capacity 
for  more  or  less  general  conceptions.  As  the  various 
organs  of  an  animal  differ  according  to  a  fixed  rela- 
tion, so  also  are  the  different  aptitudes  and  inclina- 
tions of  an  individual  inter-related.  Man's  faculties 
necessarily  depend  upon  one  another.  Having  been 
calculated  as  well  as  produced  by  the  same  law, 
when  this  law  is  given,  we  can  foresee  their  energy 
and  estimate  its  effects.  In  each  of  us  there  is  a 
dominant  faculty  whose  uniform  action  is  communi- 
cated differently  to  our  various  organs,  and  imparts  a 
system  of  expected  movements  to  our  mechanism. 

If  the  dominant  faculty  is  really  a  cause  control- 
ling the  development  of  the  intellectual  organism, 
it  is  itself  controlled  by  other  higher  causes.  These 
manifold  causes  may  be  found  in  the  influences  of 
race,  place,  and  time.  When  criticism  sets  out  to 
study  man  individually,  it  takes  into  account  the 
special  conditions  under  which  the  three  following 
influences  have  operated,  —  the  peculiar  tempera- 
ment inheiited  from  ancestors,  the  particular  cir- 
cumstances that  have  directed  development,  and  the 
exact   time   in   which   this  development  has   taken 


Criticism.  391 

place.  On  the  other  hand,  when  criticism  proposes 
to  make  a  study  of  a  social  group,  it  also  seeks  to 
determine  the  same  influences ;  but  instead  of  con- 
sidering them  in  respect  to  the  personal  character- 
istics of  the  individuals  who  comprise  this  group, 
and  differentiating  them  from  each  other,  it  searches 
for  those  features  which  are  common  to  all.  Just 
so  the  same  method  of  organization  is  to  be  found 
among  all  species  in  a  class  or  even  in  a  subdivision 
of  the  animal  kingdom.  Thus,  the  most  diverse 
individuals  of  the  same  race,  in  the  same  social  and 
political  atmosphere  and  in  a  given  period,  present 
a  generic  type  more  or  less  modified  in  each  case, 
but  which  unites  them  all  in  a  common  family.  In 
diversifying  the  individuals  of  a  group,  influences  of 
race,  place,  and  time  also  introduce  variations  into 
that  group.  The  more  general  the  characteristics 
examined,  the  more  are  the  differences  between  in- 
dividuals effaced,  consequently  becoming  more  evi- 
dent in  respect  to  groups.  Likewise,  by  continued 
generalization,  differences  between  an  inferior  group 
and  another  of  the  same  order  are  effaced,  thus  be- 
coming more  evident  between  groups  of  this  order 
and  another  of  a  higher  order.  Raising  this  hier- 
archy, little  by  little,  we  finally  succeed  in  attaining 
the  common  formula  which  characterizes  a  number 
of  groups. 

Hereditary  influences,  considered  in  a  single  man, 
distinguish  him  from  all  those  not  belonging  to  the 
same  family,  while  the  same  influences,  considered  in 
respect  to  race,  distinguish  it  from  every  other  human 
race.     Thus,  although  "  transformed  by  thirty  cen- 


392  Literacy  Movement  in  Fra^ice. 

turies  of  revolutions,  established  in  all  climates,  and 
dispersed  through  all  degrees  of  civilization,"  the 
Aryan  race  has,  nevertheless,  preserved  those  pecu- 
liar characteristics  by  which  its  common  origin  may 
still  be  recognized.  In  like  manner  do  influences 
of  environment,  considered  in  a  single  man,  distin- 
guish him  from  all  those  which  have  developed 
under  other  individual  circumstances,  and,  consid- 
ered in  this  or  that  nation,  distinguish  it  from  all 
those  which  have  developed  under  other  general 
circumstances.  In  France,  for  example,  Latin  civi- 
lization, first  introduced  by  docile  barbarians  and 
later  interrupted  by  universal  destruction,  at  length 
regained  ground  and  controlled  our  national  devel- 
opment. Finally,  influences  of  time,  considered  in 
a  single  man,  distinguish  him  from  all  those  not 
limited  to  that  particular  time,  and,  considered  in 
respect  to  this  or  that  social  condition,  distinguish 
it  from  all  other  conditions  which  succeed  with  each 
epoch.  If  it  is  true  that  the  development  of  the 
French  nation  is  determined  by  the  action  of  causes 
relating  to  hereditary  temperament  or  environment, 
it  cannot  be  doubted  that  this  growth  necessarily 
assumes  different  phases  with  succeeding  centuries. 
"  Besides  permanent  impulsion  and  given  environ- 
ment, we  must  not  lose  sight  of  that  acquired 
rapidity"  which  makes  these  phases  differ  from 
one  another. 

Whether  studying  a  single  individual  or  society 
as  a  whole,  the  method  remains  the  same.  More- 
over, in  studying  a  single  individual,  the  critic 
should  consider  the  entire  society  that  has  produced 


Criticism.  393 

him.  Not  only  is  the  method  the  same,  but  also  its 
object.  The  more  remarkable  the  individual, —  for 
criticism  concerns  only  marked  personalities, —  the 
more  are  we  constrained  to  believe  that  he  faith- 
fully represents  the  surroundings  in  which  he  has 
lived.  The  most  highly  developed  individuals, 
whether  men  or  animals,  are  those  whose  inclina- 
tions and  aptitudes  correspond  best  to  those  of  their 
group.  Indeed,  is  it  not  by  representing  the  life  of 
his  race  and  time  that  a  writer  rallies  about  him 
the  sympathies  of  his  whole  age  and  nation } 

Taine's  method,  as  exposed  by  his  own  formulas, 
supposes  that  man  is  not  free,  and  that  all  the 
phenomena  of  moral  and  physical  life  are  neces- 
sarily determined  by  anterior  phenomena.  In  con- 
fining ourselves  to  influences  of  race,  for  example, 
it  infers  that  character  in  individuals  is  a  necessary 
product,  having  all  the  ancestors  of  that  lineage  for 
factors,  just  as  in  peoples  it  is  the  fatal  resultant 
of  all  their  previous  actions  and  sensations.  But 
although  Taine's  system  is  based  upon  absolute  and 
universal  Determinism,  those  who  uphold  man's 
moral  liberty  must  admit  that  man  depends  more 
or  less  upon  the  influences  which  this  system 
explains.  It  is  a  question  of  degree,  and,  however 
great  a  part  be  granted  to  liberty,  we  must,  never- 
theless, recognize  Taine's  method  as  legitimate.  If 
we  do  not  consider  man  a  force  entirely  independent 
of  causes  alien  to  his  will,  it  must  be  conceded  that 
analysis  purposes  to  determine  the  influence  of  these 
causes.  Hence  natural  criticism  must  be  followed 
to  the  point  where  it  interprets  by  fatal  influences, 


394  Literary  Movement  in  Fratice. 

or  we  would  prefer  to  attribute  it  to  an  autonomic 
power,  whose  influences  seem  to  count  for  nothing. 
The  chief  objection  raised  against  Taine  is  that  he 
has  not  grasped  the  "  inexpressible  monad,"  "  what 
causes  twenty,  a  hundred,  or  a  thousand  men  to 
vary  under  what  appear  the  same  conditions,  so 
that  not  one  resembles  another  and  only  one  of 
them  excels  in  originality."  However,  this  objec- 
tion does  not  concern  the  method,  but  the  imperfec- 
tion of  our  instruments.  That  the  mystery  of  life 
escapes  us  is  no  reason  for  condemning  biological 
sciences.  That  physiological  criticism  does  not 
solve  the  great  enigma  seems  no  good  reason  for 
opposing  its  study  or  attempted  explanation. 

Taine  can  be  justly  criticised  because  the  method 
which  he  employs  is  contradictory  to  that  which  he 
upholds.  After  announcing  inductive  analysis,  he 
proceeds  by  deductions.  Has  he,  then,  really  applied 
the  naturalist's  method  to  his  own  work.'*  There 
are  certainly  no  evidences  of  it  in  his  geometrical 
constructions.  Instead  of  leading  us,  step  by  step, 
to  the  general  formula  which  should  be  the  final 
conclusion  of  his  inquiry,  he  first  admits  it,  and 
then,  theorem  by  theorem,  deduces  all  the  conse- 
quences which  it  entails.  So  imperative  a  method 
arouses  our  suspicion  when  it  concerns  a  peculiarly 
fleeting  and  delicate  subject.  We  question  whether 
Taine  did  not  first  form  his  opinion  of  the  writer 
to  be  studied  ;  in  fact,  whether,  when  once  conceived, 
he  is  not  forced  to  follow  it  out  systematically,  cast- 
ing aside  everything  likely  to  disprove  it.  Thus 
conceived,    criticism    risks    becoming    partial    and 


Criticism.  395 

exclusive ;  for  the  multiplicity  of  man  it  would  sub- 
stitute a  fictitious  unity.  The  dominant  faculty 
of  Taine's  system,  doubtless,  explains  the  entire 
man;  but,  when  discovered,  there  is  nothing  more 
than  a  mechanical  problem.  Admitting  that  we 
may  not  err  in  determining  this  faculty,  fatalism 
must  be  pushed  to  its  final  consequences,  in  order 
to  study  the  human  soul  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of 
machine  and  explain  its  most  subtle  and  complex 
operations  by  the  workings  of  mechanism.  This 
is  believing  not  only  in  a  dominant  but  also  in  a 
generative  faculty. 

Taine  has  applied  to  all  his  works  an  absolute 
theory  conceived  in  advance,  and  so  inflexible  that 
it  admits  of  no  attenuation.  This  theory  he  adapts 
both  to  history,  properly  so  called,  and  to  literature, 
which  interests  him  especially  from  its  historical 
point  of  view.  With  him  everything  assumes  a 
systematic  form.  In  the  savant  there  is  an  artist, 
and  in  the  dialectician  a  poet  is  also  to  be  found; 
but  his  powerful  imagination  only  sei-\'es  to  illumi- 
nate logic.  He  scorns  in  the  writer  all  those  qual- 
ities which  cannot  be  placed  at  the  service  of  his 
authoritative  thought  unadorned.  Does  his  style 
lack  flexibility.'*  Because  this  requires  an  apprecia- 
tion of  fine  shades  absolutely  foreign  to  his  positive, 
categorical  mind.  In  applying  the  same  method  to 
Balzac  and  Racine,  he  employs  the  same  style.  Is 
he  found  wanting  in  lightness  of  touch.'*  Because 
each  proposition  seems  to  sustain  the  weight  of  his 
entire  system.  He  writes  only  for  the  purpose  of 
proving  facts.     His  books  are  mathematically  con- 


396  Literary  JVIovemeni  in  France. 

structed.  A  strict  order  determines  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  chapters  of  his  works,  the  paragraphs  of 
his  chapters,  the  sentences  of  his  paragraphs,  and 
even  the  clauses  of  his  sentences.  Every  word  is 
indispensable  to  his  arguments.  There  are  no 
embellishments  in  his  writings  that  do  not  add  to 
the  fitness  or  solidity  of  the  edifice  which  he  erects. 
The  architect  of  ideas  is  to  be  found  even  in  his 
style.  As  a  writer  as  well  as  a  thinker,  this  Posi- 
tivist  may  be  said  to  represent  in  the  character  of 
his  mind  that  "  Classic  reason "  which  he  has  so 
clearly  defined  and  so  vigorously  combated. 

Ernest  Renan,  it  seems,  can  be  considered  after 
Taine  only  in  opposition  to  him.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  two  more  contrary  natures.  Renan's 
fugitive,  undulating  manner,  delicate  irony  and  aver- 
sion to  all  systems,  form  a  strong  contrast  to  Taine's 
imperious  formulas.  But  he  none  the  less  ex- 
presses in  his  own  way  the  universal  triumph  of 
the  scientific  spirit  during  the  second  half  of  our 
century.  Contemporary  criticism,  which  takes  the 
form  of  despotic  theorems  with  the  one,  tends  no 
less  decidedly  to  dissolve  into  imperceptible  miances 
with  the  other. 

Race,  education,  and  environment  predestined 
Renan  for  what  he  calls  moral  Romanticism. 
Without  taste  or  love  for  what  does  not  concern 
the  exercise  of  pure  mind,  he  inherited  from  his 
ancestors  an  unconquerable  propensity  to  pursue 
none  but  disinterested  ends.  He  has  loved  only 
martyrs,  exalted  souls,  the  friends  of  the  impossible. 


Criticism.  397 

Indeed,  he  has  himself  pushed  the  instinct  of  ideal- 
ism even  to  Utopianism.  "False  fanatics  are  so 
dear  to  me,"  he  said  quite  recently,  "  that  I  cannot 
relate  one  of  their  heroic  histories  without  longing 
to  be  one  of  their  band  in  order  to  be  able  to  believe 
and  suffer  with  them."  If,  as  he  says,  he  "broke 
away  from  spiritualism "  while  still  young,  it  was 
only  to  "  re-enter  idealism,"  to  which  he  always  re- 
mained true.  Renan  has  never  been  a  stoic,  for  his 
nature  was  quite  alien  to  all  that  is  rigid  and  forced 
in  so  austere  a  doctrine.  Although  he  has  some- 
times been  called  an  Epicurean,  it  is  only  in  a  certain 
sense  true  in  regard  to  his  mental  "dilettanteism,"  and 
cannot  be  applied  to  the  indulgence  of  his  moral 
attitude.  If  this  indulgence  were  not  quite  natural 
to  him,  it  could  be  explained  by  the  "  scruples  "  of 
his  philosophy,  by  the  idea  that  evil  is,  perhaps,  but 
the  condition  of  good.  That  tolerance  which  per- 
tains to  kindness  of  heart  or  scepticism  of  mind 
cannot  be  mistaken  for  inconstancy  of  conviction, 
though  it  may  sometimes  have  seemed  to  give  an 
apparent  "  unsteadiness  "  to  his  principles.  Renan 
came  naturally  by  his  vocation  for  the  ideal.  In 
his  mind  man  is  great  only  on  account  of  his  moral 
and  intellectual  faculties,  which,  in  raising  him  above 
the  vulgarities  of  life,  open  before  him  a  world  of 
purer  pleasures  and  higher  intuitions.  He  calls 
religion  that  part  which  the  ideal  plays  in  human 
existence. 

He  has  always  professed  this  religion,  and  has 
always  considered  himself  its  priest.  Having  early 
and  irrevocably  lost  from  faith  all  that  could  be  dis- 


398  Literary  Moveme^ii  m  France. 

sipated  by  intellectual  analysis,  he  retained  what  the 
love  and  need  of  an  ideal  make  indispensable  to 
pious  souls.  No  one  has  possessed  to  a  greater 
degree  the  "  sense  of  divinity."  But  what  does  this 
mean  to  him  1  We  cannot  look  to  him  for  a  defini- 
tion of  the  infinite;  yet  he  nevertheless  seems  to  have 
always  recognized  a  celestial  principle,  a  supreme 
conscience,  as  it  were,  in  the  vagueness  implied  by 
the  infinite.  In  rejecting  the  supernatural,  he  re- 
mains none  the  less  in  touch  with  the  divine.  With 
the  loss  of  all  positive  faith  he  becomes  mystical. 
He  has  no  credo,  yet  he  believes.  To  him  the  name 
of  God  is  but  an  abstract  symbol  of  all  the  virtues 
and  perfections  that  can  be  imagined ;  he  perceives 
in  the  divine  I  know  not  what  living  essence  that 
cannot  be  grasped  by  his  reason,  though  his  priestly 
soul  may  adore  it.  Moreover,  he  has  never  lost  his 
reverence  for  that  Catholicism  whose  dogmas  he  has 
repudiated.  Somewhere  in  the  depths  of  his  heart 
he  has  always  preserved  his  "temple  of  Isis,"  with 
its  persistently  ringing  church  bells.  How  many 
times  does  he  still  listen  with  emotion  to  their  music 
summoning  him  to  holy  services ! 

While  his  idealistic  soul  turns  irresistibly  towards 
the  divine,  his  mind  is  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  modern  critical  spirit.  He  did  not  cast  aside 
his  early  beliefs  on  account  of  philosophical  objec- 
tions, but  for  reasons  of  a  more  positive  character. 
Those  dogmas  most  difficult  to  accept  "passed 
through  his  metaphysical  ether,  coming  in  contact 
with  no  contrary  opinions."  He  abandoned  Ca- 
tholicism because  he  found  flagrant  contradictions 


Criticism.  399 

between  the  Fourth  Evanglle  and  the  Synoptics. 
He  lost,  in  his  youth,  all  confidence  in  abstract 
speculations.  While  at  the  Seminary  of  Issy  one 
of  his  professors  opened  the  general  field  of  history 
to  him,  and  even  at  that  time  he  imagined  nature 
as  an  ensemble  "in  which  special  creation  has  no 
place,  and  in  which  everything  is  consequently 
transformed."  To  him  universal  law  seemed  an 
"  eternal  fierir  Henceforth  "  positive  science  was 
the  only  source  of  truth  for  him."  He  has  always 
employed  the  analytical  method.  As  idealism  is 
the  basis  of  his  moral  nature,  so  is  analysis  the 
foundation  of  his  intellectual  character.  It  is  use- 
less to  seek  elsewhere  for  the  secret  of  the  apparent 
contradictions  into  which  this  dualism  necessarily 
leads  him.  Profoundly  religious,  he  nevertheless 
makes  a  distinction  between  religion  and  religions. 
In  its  general  signification,  religion  is  the  evident 
sign  of  man's  higher  destiny.  It  is  the  "proof  of 
the  divine  spirit  within  us,  and  in  its  aspirations 
corresponds  to  a  transcendent  ideal."  To  the 
particular  cults  which  succeed  from  age  to  age 
and  vary  with  different  peoples,  he  applies  the 
scientific  method.  In  mythologies  he  sees  but  the 
most  curious  and  most  significant  documents  which 
we  possess  concerning  the  past  of  humanity,  Renan 
is  both  a  dreamer  and  a  critic.  When  the  critic 
arrives  at  too  barren  conclusions,  the  dreamer  opens 
to  his  mind  some  consoling  perspective,  some  happy 
loop-hole,  or  refuge  for  illusion.  Just  so  does  the 
critic  come  to  lead  the  dreamer  back  to  the  land 
of  positive  realities  when  he  wanders  at  will  among 
mystic  fantasies. 


400  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Renan  first  turned  to  the  study  of  history;  and 
although  he  has  touched  upon  many  diverse 
matters,  history  has  always  remained  the  chief 
object  of  his  research.  Being  both  an  art  and  a 
science,  history  was  marvellously  suited  to  his  gift 
for  analysis  as  well  as  to  his  power  of  divination. 
He  had  no  love  for  abstract  philosophy,  which, 
although  claiming  to  be  the  higher  science,  holds 
itself  aloof  from  all  others.  He  never  permitted 
himself  to  speculate  upon  the  void.  The  method 
of  natural  sciences,  which  early  appeared  to  him 
as  the  "law  of  truth,"  he  applied  to  historical 
studies.  His  most  personal  qualities,  particularly 
his  "adaptability,"  or  the  faculty  of  experiencing 
the  intuitions  of  past  ages,  here  found  sphere  for 
exercise.  His  are  works  of  criticism,  but  at  the 
same  time  products  of  the  imagination.  One  of 
the  modern  books  from  which  passages  were  read 
aloud  at  Saint-Nicholas-du-Chardonnet,  "produced 
a  singular  effect  upon  him ; "  indeed,  when  Miche- 
let's  Histoire  de  France  was  opened,  it  was  no 
longer  possible  for  Renan  to  take  notes.  Michelet 
captivated  him  by  his  power  of  resurrecting  souls. 
Renan,  like  Michelet,  also  possesses  the  instinctive 
comprehension  of  historical  life.  He  "can  look 
into  the  earth  and  hear  noises  which  others  do  not 
discern."  He  possesses  in  the  highest  degree  that 
talent,  peculiar  to  the  historian,  which  consists  in 
being  able  to  understand  conditions  very  different 
from  those  in  which  we  live. 

Renan  preferred  to  bring  his  love  and  knowledge 
of  the  successive  forms  of  the  human  mind  to  bear 


Criticism.  401 

upon  religious  history.  Before  he  left  the  Sem- 
inary his  vocation  seemed  clear,  —  to  follow  out 
his  researches  upon  Christianity  with  all  the  re- 
sources of  laical  science.  He  considered  two  con- 
ditions necessary  to  write  the  history  of  a  religion, 
both  of  which  were  realized  in  him,  —  to  believe  in 
it  no  longer,  although  it  must  have  once  been  be- 
lieved, for  we  thoroughly  understand  only  the  cult 
which  first  aroused  our  enthusiasm  for  the  ideal. 
He  has  said,  "  One  ought  only  to  write  of  what 
one  loves."  He  put  this  maxim  into  practice  by 
relating  the  origins  of  Christianity  in  a  severely 
critical  and  devoutly  sympathetic  spirit. 

Although  spiritually  inclined  towards  Christi- 
anity, he  excluded  no  other  religion.  His  ability 
to  understand  all  ideas,  imagine  all  states  of  con- 
science, and  experience  all  feelings  through  a  sort 
of  contagion,  taught  him  to  love  something  in  all 
religions.  These  gifts  have  brought  him  near 
everything  in  all  religious  forms  and  in  all  philo- 
sophies which  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  needs,  in- 
stincts, and  aspirations  of  the  human  soul.  Hence 
his  scepticism.  He  does  not  believe  in  absolute 
truth ;  he  holds  that  the  best  method  of  obtaining 
relative  truth  is  to  seek  a  mean  between  opposing 
solutions.  He  would  conciliate  two  adversaries  by 
having  each  meet  the  other  half-way.  According 
to  him,  truth  lies  entirely  in  approximates.  He 
balances  himself  between  affirmation,  the  bluntness 
of  which  he  repudiates,  and  negation,  which  means 
nothing  more  to  him  than  the  reverse  of  affirma- 
tion.    To   the   fanaticism  of   both  he    opposes  his 

26 


402  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

resolute  doubt.  He  was  attracted  towards  the 
origins  of  Christianity,  rather  than  towards  ecclesias- 
tical history,  because  of  his  preference  for  researches 
whose  results  must  necessarily  open  the  way  for 
possibilities  and  probabilities,  for  "what  cannot 
be  expressed  with  apparent  certainty." 

In  a  nature  like  his,  scepticism  readily  turns  to 
"  dilettanteism."  It  is,  doubtless,  true  that  Renan 
is,  first  of  all,  an  artist.  While  metaphysics  vainly 
aspire  to  confine  the  infinite  within  narrow  limits, 
art  alone  being  infinite,  it  is  the  "  highest  form  of 
criticism."  This  conception  of  art,  which  he  ac- 
quired very  early  in  life,  is  united  with  an  exquisite 
sense  of  the  beautiful.  Captivated,  when  but  twelve 
years  of  age,  by  the  grace  of  little  Noemi,  beauty 
then  seemed  to  him  "'  so  superior  a  gift  that  talent, 
genius,  and  even  virtue  were  nothing  in  comparison. 
Therefore  the  truly  beautiful  woman  is  right  in 
scorning  all  else,  because  she  possesses  in  her  own 
person,  and  not  in  an  exterior  work,  everything  that 
genius  feebly  outlines  through  painful  reflection." 
Distrust  of  all  afifirmation  has  made  Renan  the 
most  impartial  and  the  least  conclusive  of  critics; 
through  the  seduction  of  art  he  became  a  "  dilet- 
tante." When  the  critic  suspends  judgment,  the 
dilettante  plays  with  the  doubts  of  the  critic.  To 
the  dilettante  the  universe  is  not  a  problem  for  the 
mind  to  solve,  but  a  spectacle  to  amuse  his  curi- 
osity. To  him  religions  seem  idols,  each  one  of 
which  has  its  peculiar  grace  and  charm.  In  devot- 
ing himself  to  the  study  of  religious  conceptions, 
Renan  knew    very  well    that,  like    men,  gods   also 


Criticism.  403 

pass  away;  but  each  cult  leaves  behind  it  an  ideal 
of  beauty  for  art  to  preserve.  Man's  aim  is  to  "  sur- 
mount the  platitudes  through  which  we  drag  out 
our  existence,"  and  by  art  only  can  we  elevate  our- 
selves above  them.  Renan  pardons  the  Italy  of 
the  sixteenth  century  its  moral  corruption,  in  con- 
sideration of  its  great  and  beautiful  works  of  art, 
those  precious  gifts  by  which  it  has  enriched  the 
world.  Where  Christianity  writes  the  word  "holi- 
ness," Renan  translates  noblesse.  He  believes  that 
divinity  is  better  worshipped  by  a  blaspheming  artist 
than  by  the  puritan  who  degrades  its  cult.  In  re- 
ligion he  sees  but  a  higher  order  of  poetry. 

This  dilettante  believes  in  no  particular  form  of 
religion,  but  in  all  forms  of  the  beautiful.  In  cathe- 
drals he  feels  himself  a  Christian,  and  his  heart  melts 
when  he  hears  the  holy  chant :  "  Salut,  etoile  de  la 
mer !  .  .  ."  Upon  the  Acropolis  the  perfection  of 
Greek  art  is  revealed  to  him,  and  the  hours  he  passes 
before  the  temple  of  Athena  are  hours  of  prayer. 
Since  we  see  but  the  semblance  of  things,  let  us 
cling  to  the  most  beautiful ;  for  appearances  only 
do  not  deceive.  Who  can  separate  truth  from  error  .<* 
Truth.''  How  vain  to  seek  it  with  the  hope  of  ol> 
taining  it !  Renan  seeks  truth  for  the  mere  zest  of 
the  quest,  not  in  order  to  find  it.  In  recognizing 
the  vanity  of  all  belief,  the  philosopher,  if  he  be  also 
an  artist,  will  perceive  in  the  manifold  evolutions  of 
the  human  mind  but  substance  for  the  pleasures  of 
his  curiosity,  the  caprices  of  his  imagination,  or  the 
fine  irony  of  his  criticism.  For  him  the  final  word 
of  wisdom  must  consist  in  a  play  of  ideas.     He  will 


404  Literary  Movement  in  Fraiice. 

reverence  a  sceptical  Saint  Paul,  and,  ascribing  his 
own  "  distinction  "  to  Christ,  will  represent  him  "  with 
that  calm,  keen  smile  which  implies  the  highest 
philosophy." 

Renan  is  an  artist  in  thought.  To  give  it  form, 
he  possesses  a  style  exquisite  in  its  rare  simplicity 
and  natural  erudition.  The  name  of  artist,  for  fifty 
years  lavished  upon  writers  who  had  forced  the  elas- 
ticity, exhausted  the  resources,  and  violated  the  spirit 
of  language,  he  merits  for  his  tact,  fitness,  and  expe- 
diency,—  qualities  in  touch  with  the  finely  gradu- 
ated distinctions  of  his  philosophy.  "  I  very  soon 
comprehended  that  Romanticism  of  form  was  an 
error,  and  that  there  is  but  one  form  to  express  what 
we  think  or  feel,"  he  said.  As  he  has  never  forced 
his  opinions  in  order  to  be  heard,  no  more  has  he 
strained  his  style  for  the  purpose  of  being  applauded. 
His  Vie  de  y'esus  was  first  written  in  a  more  florid 
style ;  then  he  spent  an  entire  year  in  subduing  its 
wealth  of  color.  Renan,  the  writer,  is  not  less  "  aris- 
tocratic "  than  the  thinker.  As  an  artist,  as  well  as 
a  philosopher,  he  addresses  an  elite.  He  scorns  all 
rhetoric,  all  the  graces  of  speech.  He  has  too  much 
good  taste  to  swell  his  voice,  or  seek  brilliant  effects, 
gaudy  colors,  and  pompous  beauties.  He  has  cur- 
tailed the  "tinsel  and  spangles  that  bring  success 
to  others  and  provoke  the  enthusiasm  of  mediocre 
connoisseurs,  that  is,  of  the  majority."  Just  as  his 
extreme  reserve  caused  omnibus-drivers  to  mistake 
him  for  a  "  traveller  little  inclined  to  seriousness,"  so 
the  exquisite  measure  of  his  diction  impresses  the 
commonplace  but  very  little.     However,  the  "  imper- 


Criticism,  405 

ceptible  minority  of  superior  minds,"  for  whom  he 
writes,  has  tendered  him  in  cultured  admiration  what 
he  has  lost  in  cheap  applause.  These  unite  in  rec- 
ognizing in  him  one  of  the  greatest  writers  of  the 
century,  —  indeed  the  greatest  of  our  epoch.  This 
he  merits  for  the  rare  precision,  the  sinuous  grace, 
flexibility,  and  transparency  of  his  style,  the  suavity 
of  his  harmony,  the  soberness  of  his  assurance,  and 
the  sincerity  of  his  refinement.  He  possesses  a 
charm  as  subtle  and  mysterious  as  a  perfume,  and 
quite  as  indefinable.  He  is  unqualified  in  his  skill 
in  all  tongues,  —  to  speak  the  language  of  the  poet 
as  well  as  that  of  the  savant,  to  assume  all  tones,  — 
the  emotional  and  the  facetious,  the  serious,  the 
ironical,  and  the  devoutly  tender.  Whatever  his 
style  and  tone,  he  possesses  the  marvellous  gift  of 
fascinating  without  astonishing  us,  and  we  can  ad- 
mire his  exquisite  art  without  perceiving  its  secret. 


4o6  Literary  Movement  m  France. 


CHAPTER    IV, 

THE    NOVEL. 

THE  novel,  which  already  held  so  important  a 
place  in  our  literature,  during  the  second 
half  of  the  century  becomes  the  richest  and  most 
flourishing  of  literary  styles.  Owing  to  the  infinite 
variety  of  its  forms,  it  is  also  the  most  complete 
expression  of  that  positive  observation  with  which 
universal  Realism  colors  all  productions  of  the 
contemporary  mind.  The  "  Idealistic "  school  is 
represented  only  by  a  few  survivors  of  former  gen- 
erations ;  for  all  the  robust  and  original  spirits 
among  the  new  generation  react  against  a  now 
antiquated  Romanticism  by  substituting  fact  for 
fiction,  experience  for  lyricism,  and  the  methods  of 
"documentary"  art  for  the  suggestions  of  intuitive 
art. 

Victor  Hugo  composes  great  poems  which  he 
calls  novels.  These  novels,  dated  from  the  Isle  of 
Guernsey,  are  preserved  from  Realistic  contagion, 
not  only  by  the  exile  of  their  author,  but  by  the 
peculiar  character  of  a  genius  perceiving  human 
life  through  a  mirage  of  epic  symbols,  and  there- 
fore essentially   unsuited   to  the  minute  details  of 


The  Novel.  407 

analysis.  However,  in  remaining  faithful  to  the 
historical  novel,  in  which  he  freely  unfolds  his  mar- 
vellous powers  of  evocation,  Victor  Hugo  no  longer 
seeks  his  subjects  from  the  remote  ages  of  our  his- 
tory. The  choice  of  more  modern,  of  almost  con- 
temporary, subjects  is,  perhaps,  not  due  solely  to 
social  and  political  preoccupations. 

Realistic  influence  is  also  evident  in  the  truer, 
simpler  manner  of  the  works  of  George  Sand's 
declining  age.  They  are  no  longer  novels  of  theo- 
ries or  of  great  passions.  Without  abandoning  her 
ideal  conception  of  art  and  the  world,  the  author 
of  Indiana  and  le  Meunier  d' Angibault  finds  her 
subjects  in  every-day  life,  and  her  characters  among 
the  middle  classes,  yean  de  la  Roche  and  le  Mar- 
quis de  Villemer  fall  between  the  romantic  inven- 
tions and  sentimental  effusions  of  her  former 
manner  and  the  prosaic  crudeness  and  cynical  in- 
difference of  contemporary  Realism. 

Octave  Feuillet  is,  doubtless,  the  most  notable  of 
the  new  talents  belonging  more  or  less  directly  to 
the  "  Idealistic "  school.  The  charming  tales  he 
relates  so  gracefully  take  place  in  a  world  con- 
ceived expressly  for  the  delectation  of  pure  souls. 
Le  Roman  d'un  jeune  homme  pauvre  is  his  master- 
piece in  this  edifying  style,  florid  with  chivalric 
graces  and  aristocratic  virtues.  Its  author  is  much 
less  concerned  in  picturing  contemporary  life  accu- 
rately than  in  presenting  the  good  society  whose 
favorite  novelist  he  is,  —  an  image  of  itself  faithful 
enough  to  be  recognizable,  and,  above  all,  sufH- 
ciently  poetized  and   embellished   to   be   flattering. 


4o8  Literary  Movement  in  Fra7ice. 

Indeed,  there  are  none  but  choice  spirits  in  this 
aristocratic  circle.  Scarce  figures  discreetly  outlined 
here  and  there  barely  prevent  us  from  forgetting 
that  there  is  anything  but  exquisite  refinement  and 
sublime  generosity  in  this  best-thinking  and  most 
select  of  worlds.  The  "poor  young  man"  —  the 
typical  hero  which  Octave  Feuillet  delights  in  plac- 
ing before  us  —  unites  all  the  noblest  qualities  and 
most  pleasing  attractions  in  his  person.  An  old 
servant  discovers  in  him  a  marquis  solely  by  the 
distinction  of  his  manners.  In  this  type  he  incar- 
nates honor,  disinterestedness,  and  heroism.  But 
this  is  not  enough ;  he  is  also  the  model  of  equer- 
ries. This  perfect  gentleman's  only  fault  is  his 
perfection,  which  all  the  novelist's  skill  can  at 
times  scarcely  save  from  insipidity. 

When  the  contemporary  novel  had  been  renewed 
by  a  school  more  solicitous  of  exact  portraiture, 
Octave  Feuillet  felt  that  there  was  no  further  place 
for  his  innocent  fictions,  that  he  must  supply  the 
demand  for  a  frank,  living  reality  which  was  trans- 
forming literature  beneath  his  eyes.  The  elegant 
proverbs  which  had  charmed  salons  by  their  arch 
grace  and  finical  morality  were  succeeded  by  Dalila, 
in  which  he  revealed  unsuspected  power  in  the  por- 
trayal of  passion  in  its  maddest  and  most  degrading 
forms.  The  amiable  conceptions  of  a  specious  ideal- 
ism too  chimerical  to  give  the  impression  of  truth 
were  followed  by  novels  in  which  the  influence  of 
Realism  is  evident  not  only  in  a  stronger  touch,  but 
also  in  a  more  exact  observation  of  life.  M.  de 
Camors  is  the  type  of  the  "  superior  "  man  who,  in 


Tlie  Novel.  409 

rising  above  vulgar  laws,  recognizes  no  moral  law 
but  worldly  honor,  and  admits  no  purpose  other 
than  to  enjoy  life  without  scruple  as  without  re- 
morse. As  the  "  poor  young  man "  characterizes 
Octave  Feuillet's  earlier  work,  so  M.  de  Camors 
impersonates  his  second  manner.  Into  the  latter 
he  has  introduced  all  the  Realism  consistent  with 
his  turn  of  mind  and  artistic  conceptions,  as  well 
as  with  the  tastes  and  habits  of  the  public  he  ad- 
dresses. His  later  works  are  conceived  in  the  same 
spirit.  Their  originality  consists  in  the  represen- 
tation of  naturally  intemperate  passions  in  people 
whose  native  vulgarity  is  concealed  beneath  a 
charming  exterior,  exquisite  urbanity  of  manners 
and  language.  If  he  soon  breaks  away  from  a 
candid  optimism,  he  nevertheless  always  remains 
true  to  a  certain  ideal  of  social  culture  and  polite- 
ness, without  which  his  talent  would  be  ill  at  ease. 
Octave  Feuillet's  "  Realism,"  if  the  expression  may 
be  applied  to  him,  is  thoroughly  aristocratic. 

He  differs  from  contemporary  Realists  not  only 
in  his  exclusive  preference  for  a  refined  society  not 
less  "  real  "  after  all  than  all  others,  but  particularly 
in  a  dogmatic  tendency  evident  even  in  his  strongest 
works,  and  impossible  to  conciliate  with  the  faithful 
rendering  of  men  and  things.  The  too  evident 
preoccupations  of  the  moralist  lead  us  to  doubt  the 
observer's  impartiality.  This  self-constituted  de- 
fender of  that  absolute,  superficial  Catholicism  which 
holds  sway  over  salons,  devises  at  will  events  as 
well  as  characters  in  which  to  confide  the  Horifica- 
tion  of  his  doctrines.     Why  is  M.  de  Camors  lost } 


410  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

Because  he  is  an  unbeliever.  Why,  in  his  Histoire 
de  Sibylle,  is  Gandrax  stricken  with  apoplexy? 
Because  the  materialist  has  just  denied  the  exist- 
ence of  God.  Why,  in  la  Morte,  does  Sabine  poison 
Madame  de  Vaudricourt  ?  Because  she  was  not 
educated  in  the  Sacre-Coeur.  Let  us  overlook  what 
is  ingenuously  crude  in  this  philosophy.  Octave 
Feuillet's  orthodox  Catholicism  is  necessarily  alien 
to  the  general  spirit  of  the  Realistic  school ;  indeed, 
whatever  opinion  may  be  expressed,  there  already 
exists  a  discord  between  the  sincere  study  of  life 
and  the  inclination  to  moralize  and  demonstrate, 
to  pursue  truth  by  means  of  arguments  rather  than 
by  the  aid  of  documents. 

Through  Realistic  influence  Romanticism  —  a 
name  synonymous  with  fictitious  adventures  and 
imaginary  characters,  a  play  of  fancy  or  dream  of 
the  ideal — was  transformed  into  an  instrument 
of  vast  social  and  psychological  inquest.  To  this 
influence  even  Octave  Feuillet  had  submitted.  But 
this  great  revolution  was  not  caused  by  Balzac,  who 
did  not  make  the  *'  poor  young  man  "  impossible, 
but  by  Flaubert,  who  brought  about  M.  de  Camors. 
During  the  second  half  of  the  century  Gustave 
Flaubert  was  the  master,  let  us  not  say  of  Realism, 
since  he  would  never  admit  a  qualification  discred- 
ited by  common  novelists,  but  of  that  school  which, 
in  poetry  as  in  all  domains  of  art,  engages  in  the 
personal  observation  of  things,  in  study  based  upon 
nature,  upon  living  reality.  Madame  Bovary  is  the 
first  masterpiece    of    the   literary    renovation    long 


The  Novel.  41 1 

prepared  and  foreshadowed  by  philosophy,  the 
progress  of  science,  and  the  changes  in  moral  and 
social  conditions. 

But  what  of  Balzac  and  his  Human  Comedy  ? 
This  question  at  once  presents  itself;  why,  instead 
of  considering  Flaubert  a  disciple  of  the  great 
Realist,  do  we  constitute  him  the  leader  of  a  new 
school  ?  After  Eugenie  Grandet,  le  Pere  Goriot,  and 
Cousine  Bette,  in  what  can  consist  the  originality 
of  Madame  B ovary? 

Although  Flaubert  is  certainly  quite  inferior  to 
Balzac  in  force,  breadth,  and  fertility,  he  possesses 
a  distinctive  originality.  This  originality  lies  in 
his  complete  abstraction  from  his  work,  and  in  its 
artistic  conception,  including  all  the  perfection  this 
signifies.  Balzac  introduced  much  of  himself  into 
his  works ;  not  only  did  his  impetuous  imagination 
invent  unlikely  events  and  extraordinary  heroes, 
but,  under  cover  of  the  characters  he  portrayed,  his 
expansive  nature  surrendered  itself  to  interminable 
digressions.  His  works  contain  monologues  giving 
us  more  or  less  direct  confidences  in  regard  to  the 
author's  tastes,  political  opinions,  religious  beliefs, 
and  his  personal  manner  of  understanding  life  and 
the  world.  In  so  doing  he  transgressed  that  most 
essential  law  of  the  documentary  novel  which  de- 
mands the  complete  effacement  of  an  effervescent 
genius  always  in  fermentation.  He  could  not,  there- 
fore, apply  to  its  form  that  patient  labor  which  sup- 
poses a  more  moderate  temperament,  or  greater 
power  of  self-restraint  and  self-chastisement.  The 
absolute  neutrality  of  its  author  and  his  superstitious 


412  Literary  Movemeiit  in  France. 

devotion  to  art  are  the  two  characteristic  traits  by 
which  Madame  Bovary  marks  an  epoch  in  the 
history  of  the  contemporary  novel. 

Gustave  Flaubert  places  Romantic  art  at  the  ser- 
vice of  reality  directly  observed.  The  subject  mat- 
ter of  his  work  in  this  sense  belongs  to  Realism, 
while  its  form  relates  to  Romanticism.  He  has 
employed  the  truths  of  both  Realism  and  Romanti- 
cism, and  has  at  times  exquisitely  combined  them ; 
but,  being  radically  inconsistent,  these  opposing  in- 
fluences must  necessarily  impress  his  literary  physi- 
ognomy with  their  contradictions. 

All  his  energy  has  been  directed  towards  betray- 
ing nothing  of  his  impressions  and  dissimulating 
what  cordial  humanitarian  feelings  he  really  pos- 
sessed. This  was  from  aversion  for  that  vulgar 
whimpering  by  which  so  many  writers  shamelessly 
demand  facile  successes,  as  well  as  through  respect 
for  art,  which  all  indiscreet  sentimentalism  cannot 
but  cloy  and  corrupt.  For  this  reason  his  books 
sometimes  seem  cruel  and  almost  always  unfeeling. 
He  forbids  every  sign  of  emotion,  every  mark  of 
sympathy.  He  considers  it  his  duty  to  represent 
things  as  they  are,  allowing  nothing  of  himself  to 
enter  his  picture  but  the  penetration  of  the  observer 
and  the  plastic  methods  of  the  artist.  "  Every  work 
in  which  the  author  can  be  divined  should  be  con- 
demned," he  says.  In  his  opinion  impassive  art 
only  is  true. 

In  exercising  a  rigid  control  over  his  native  sen- 
sibility, he  is  not  less  anxious  to  guard  against 
betraying  his  personal  impressions  than  to  allow  no 


The  Novel.  413 

particular  doctrine  or  preconceived  idea  to  enter 
his  works.  He  has  been  accused  of  being  egotis- 
tical, pitiless,  immoral.  What  is  that  to  him? 
But  one  reproach  touches  him,  —  that  of  being 
untrue.  The  first  condition  of  truth  consists  pre- 
cisely in  representing  things  as  they  are,  and  in 
excluding  all  reflections  likely  to  dim  our  sight  or 
falsify  our  judgment.  He  repudiates  a  "  moral," 
no  less  than  a  "  sentimental  "  literature.  He  rejects 
the  one  and  the  other  in  the  name  of  science  as 
well  as  in  that  of  art.  If  art,  having  its  own  reason 
for  existence,  cannot  be  considered  an  object  in 
itself,  science,  on  the  other  hand,  can  gain  nothing 
from  testimony  that  does  not  imply  impartial  obser- 
vation. The  novel,  no  longer  solely  a  work  of 
fancy  purposing  to  divert  the  idle,  but  a  sincere, 
faithful  picture  of  human  life,  should  be  in  league 
with  no  theory.  The  slightest  tendency  to  preju- 
dice on  the  part  of  the  author  leads  us  to  suspect 
that  he  has  combined  to  suit  himself  imaginary 
events,  from  which  it  would  be  quite  easy,  and  not 
less  vain,  to  demand  justification  for  a  thesis.  His 
work  would  lose  all  import  and  all  probability.  It 
would  present  neither  an  illusion  as  a  work  of  art 
nor  authority  as  a  work  of  science.  Moreover, 
whatever  genius  may  be  employed  in  the  unfolding 
of  a  fable,  nothing  can  be  easier  than  to  imagine 
another  that  will  disprove  it.  A  special  case  proves 
nothing,  and  the  law  one  attempts  to  deduce  from 
it  has  no  value  before  science. 

Not  only  in  his  "  objectivity "   is  the  author  of 
Madame  Bovary  directly  opposed  to  Romanticism; 


414  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

like  Balzac,  Flaubert  also  subordinates  psychology 
to  physiology.  What  interests  him  most,  and  what 
he  purposes  to  observe  and  portray,  is  the  physical 
milieu  in  which  his  characters  develop,  —  their  in- 
stincts, their  appetites,  and  all  that  depends  upon 
their  humors  and  constitutions.  This  son  and 
brother  of  a  physician  has  given  us  a  sort  of 
anatomical  novel,  in  which  he  explains  characters 
by  temperaments  and  moral  life  by  influences  of 
flesh  and  blood.  He  does  not  believe  the  human 
creature  capable  of  reacting  against  such  influences. 
Where,  indeed,  would  the  necessary  energy  be 
found }  For  Flaubert  there  exists  no  exclusively 
psychical  sphere  of  autonomous  forces.  With 
Taine  and  all  the  new  school  he  believes  that  man 
develops  like  a  plant.  Psychology  being  a  branch 
of  natural  history,  the  novelist  must  proceed  like 
the  botanist,  —  without  imagining  that  there  exist 
beyond  the  sensible  world  powers  which  have  mi- 
raculously escaped  the  empire  of  physical  laws. 
Flaubert's  observation  of  moral  life  is  limited  to 
passions  and  sentiments  whose  exterior  and  ma- 
terial circumstances  can  be  taken  into  account.  He 
is  a  psychologist,  if  this  may  be  understood  to 
mean  that  he  excels  in  unravelling  the  effects  of 
race  and  environment  upon  the  interior  activity  of 
his  characters ;  he  is  a  psychologist,  but  as  a  Deter- 
minist  only  can  and  must  be. 

While  the  Romanticists  idealized  human  nature, 
Flaubert  prides  himself  upon  portraying  it  without 
adding  anything  to  it.  His  characters  are  types,  if 
you  will,  but  types  of  the  most  commonplace  reality. 


The  Novel.  4 1 5 

He  has  rendered  their  foibles,  their  egotism,  and  the 
insipidity  of  their  existence.  In  order  to  make  this 
odious  paltriness  interesting  to  us,  it  must  be  ex- 
pressed with  all  the  relief  of  his  art.  There  is  not 
a  single  character  in  Madame  Bovary,  I  do  not  say 
that  inspires  us  with  sympathy,  but  which  is  even 
distinguishable  from  universal  mediocrity.  In  his 
Education  sentimentale  and  Bouvard  et  Pecuchet 
Flaubert  applies  himself  with  indefatigable  patience 
to  describing  the  stupidities  of  human  nature,  and 
all  that  is  most  ordinary  in  the  first  characters  pre- 
sented ;  indeed  so  commonplace  is  it  that  ofttimes 
it  risks  passing  unperceived.  He  makes  a  special 
point  of  portraying  figures  of  contemporary  society, 
in  themselves  tame,  ingrate,  insignificant,  and  of 
continuous,  monotonous  dulness.  He  holds  himself 
on  guard  against  all  idealism, —  against  the  idealism 
of  evil  no  less  than  that  of  good.  Reacting  against 
Romantic  heroes  and  monsters,  he  peoples  his 
novels  with  neutral  characters  without  physiognomy, 
and  employs  all  the  resources  of  art  to  give  accent 
to  vulgarity  and  character  to  platitude. 

The  author  of  Madame  Bovary  also  wrote  6"^- 
lammbb.  His  intention  to  be  circumstantially  exact 
in  the  portrayal  of  milieux  and  in  the  analysis  of 
passions  can  with  difficulty  be  reconciled  with  the 
choice  of  such  a  subject.  But,  if  Realism  here  con- 
sists only  in  the  description  of  the  paysages  which 
he  personally  studied,  Flaubert's  method  in  this  field 
is  nevertheless  quite  the  same  as  that  employed  by 
him  in  the  study  of  contemporary  manners.  With 
his  own  eyes  he  observes  the  places  where  his  action 


4i6  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

occurs;  one  must  be  as  Realistic  in  depicting  Afri- 
can palms  as  Normandy  apple-trees.  From  histor- 
ical documents  he  obtains  the  data  not  furnished  by 
direct  observation  concerning  monuments,  edifices, 
and,  what  is  much  more  important,  concerning  Car- 
thaginian civilization  and  the  ideas  and  sentiments 
of  the  characters  he  places  before  us.  In  this  work 
he  aims  at  exactness  no  less  than  in  Madame  B ovary. 
To  those  who  compared  Salammbb  with  les  Martyrs, 
Flaubert  replied  that  Chateaubriand's  system  was 
directly  opposed  to  his.  The  author  of  les  Martyrs 
started  out  from  an  ideal  point  of  view ;  while  that  of 
Salammbb  "applies  to  antiquity  the  method  of  the 
modern  novel,"  doing  for  Carthage  what  he  had 
already  done  for  Yonville. 

Whatever  fidelity  Flaubert  brought  to  legendary 
or  archaeological  romances,  neither  Salammbb  nor 
la  Tentation  de  Saint  Antoine  can  pass  for  works 
of  Realism.  He  is  somewhat  of  a  Romanticist,  and 
this  we  find  him  in  the  most  "  modern  "  of  his  works, 
even  in  Madame  B ovary ;  indeed,  the  greatest  ori- 
ginality of  this  work  consists  in  reconciling  what 
was  legitimate  in  the  aims  of  Romanticism  with 
what  is  solidly  based  in  the  demands  of  Realism. 

Everything  about  Flaubert  was  in  contradiction 
to  the  narrowness  and  pettiness  of  contemporary 
life.  His  tall  figure,  broad  shoulders,  vivid  coloring, 
and  long  pendent  moustaches  gave  him  the  air  of 
an  ancient  "sea  god."  With  his  ample  gestures,  his 
trumpet-like  voice,  and  his  theatrical  bearing,  he 
produced  a  startling  and  quite  formidable  effect, 
which  was  further  magnified  by  his  costume.     Not 


The  Novel.  417 

only  in  his  attitudes,  his  manner  of  walking,  speak- 
ing, and  laughing,  but  even  in  the  form  of  his  hats 
did  he  protest  against  the  routine  and  insipidity  of 
bourgeois  manners.  These  exteriors  do  not  deceive. 
His  soul  was  filled  with  scorn  for  vulgarity,  and  a 
craving  for  pomp  and  splendor,  indicated  by  his 
face,  bearing,  dress,  —  in  fine,  by  his  whole  person. 
In  appearance  he  was  a  Romantic  paladin.  He 
more  than  once  recalls  the  sublime  dreams  and  glo- 
rious fantasies  of  his  youth.  In  his  sentimental 
exaltation  we  recognize  the  influence  of  Romanti- 
cism which  persisted  even  to  the  end  in  this  master 
of  contemporary  "  Naturalism."  He  is  believed  to 
be  insensible;  his  nerves  are  always  in  vibration. 
Indeed,  he  compares  himself  to  one  flayed.  He 
might  be  thought  completely  disinterested  in  his 
creations ;  his  characters  affect  him,  pursue  him, 
and  mingle  with  his  life ;  in  fact,  he  relates  the  poi- 
soning of  Emma  Bovary  with  the  taste  of  arsenic 
in  his  mouth.  He  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  surly, 
morose  pessimist ;  never  was  a  man  more  naturally 
generous,  enthusiastic,  and  fervent  in  sympathy  and 
admiration.  He  is  mistaken  for  one  of  Champ- 
fleury's  emulators ;  although  a  Realist,  he  is  a  fanat- 
ical hugolatre  ;  the  painter  of  Homais  and  Bouvards 
pays  homage  to  the  singer  of  Eudore  and  Rene. 

This  instinctive  need  for  grandeur  and  all  the 
dithyrambic  sentiments  explains  such  works  as  Sa- 
lammbo2in<\  la  Tentation  de  Saint  Antoine.  Sainte- 
Beuve  writes  that  "  after  Madame  Bovary  the  author 
was  urged  to  assure  his  former  success  by  another 

somewhat  different  in  character,  but  in  the  same 

27 


41 8  Literary  Movanent  in  Fra7ice. 

sphere  of  reality  and  modern  life ;  and  while  await- 
ing him  on  the  home  ground,  somewhere  in  Tou- 
raine,  Picardy,  or  Normandy,  he  was  setting  out  for 
Carthage."  Is  not  this  the  irony  of  a  proud,  inde- 
pendent artist?  In  writing  Salammbb  he  sought  to 
withdraw  from  contemporary  prosaism  in  order  to 
satisfy  his  taste  for  thrilling  legends  and  impos- 
ing scenery.  As  he  says,  it  was  granting  himself 
full  liberty  to  roar  at  ease.  In  choosing  the  subject 
of  Madame  Bovary  he  had  obeyed  Realistic  influ- 
ence; in  selecting  that  of  Salam7nbb  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  guided  by  impulse.  Salafnmbb  should 
have  been  a  poem  rather  than  a  romance;  all  the 
phrases  in  the  first  edition  began  with  et ;  indeed, 
not  without  difficulty  did  his  friend  Bouilhet  per- 
suade him  to  efface  these  epic  conjunctions.  It  seems 
that,  after  each  of  the  novels  for  which  he  borrows 
data  from  real  life,  Flaubet  experienced  an  irresist- 
ible need  to  flee,  and  turn  his  eyes  away  from  them ; 
to  wipe  off  a  pen  less  fitted  to  conscientiously  record 
current  vulgarities  than  to  retrace  imposing  scenes 
evoked  from  history  or  mythology  by  his  poetic  im- 
agination. Salammbb  followed  Mada77te  Bovary; 
Saint  Antoine  succeeded  V Education  sentime^itale ; 
Herodias  and  Saint  Julieri  V Hospitalier  are  coun- 
terparts of  Un  coeur  simple.  Finally,  when  nearing 
the  decline  of  life,  he  planned  a  great  novel  of  mod- 
ern manners,  in  which  the  severe,  scrupulous  ob- 
server would  find  play  for  his  talents,  and  in  which 
the  "  old  Romantic  wizard "  would  find  a  setting 
worthy  of  his  epic  faculty.  This  included  a  nar- 
rative of  the  battle  of  Thermopylae,  at  once  simple 


The  Novel.  419 

and  grand,  superb  and  terrible,  —  not  an  archaeo- 
logical study,  but  a  heroic,  symbolical  poem,  the 
very  thought  of  which  aroused  him  to  violent 
enthusiasm. 

His  native  Romanticism  is  still  evident  in  his  ren- 
dering of  thankless  trivialities,  even  when  his  heroes 
are  the  most  vulgar  of  characters,  and  his  subjects 
the  platitudes  of  contemporary  life.  Realists  stupidly, 
reproduce  the  stupid.  Flaubert's  first  novel  was  in- 
tended as  a  protestation  against  Champfleury  and  his 
disciples,  who  had  always  considered  him  antiquated. 
If  Madame  Bovary  then  passed  for  a  work  of  Ro- 
mantic inspiration,  it  was  not  only  on  account  of  its 
style,  but  because  of  its  artistic  conception,  and  be- 
cause of  that  sentimental  idealism,  for  all  that,  dis- 
closed by  this  so  forcibly  personal  novel.  When 
Realism  is  consistent,  it  is  confined  to  the  reproduc- 
tion of  given  reality.  This  was  not  Flaubert's 
method.  Madame  Bovary  possesses  the  severe  unity 
of  a  Classic  work.  All  means  are  logically  com- 
bined ;  there  are  no  idle  descriptions,  nothing  that 
does  not  concur  in  the  logical  development  of  its 
action ;  it  is  the  triumph  of  an  imperious,  scholarly 
art.  Not  only  has  its  author  "composed"  his  char- 
acters ;  he  has  summed  up  an  entire  species  in  one 
figure;  he  has  created  types.  Its  moral  signifi- 
cation is  not  less  contrary  to  vulgar  Realism  than 
its  assthetical  style.  Flaubert  turns  the  extrava- 
gances of  Romanticism  into  ridicule,  just  as  Cer- 
vantes derided  the  chimeras  of  the  chivalric  spirit 
We  feel  his  secret  sympathy  for  what  poetry  there 
was  in  the  perversion  of  his  miserable  Emma.     In 


420  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

fine,  the  fundamental  idea  underlying  all  his  works 
is  the  bitter  contradiction  which  he  everywhere  dis- 
covers between  the  real  and  the  ideal.  In  spite  of 
all  his  efforts  to  remain  impassive,  he  never  resigns 
himself  to  stupidity,  routine,  and  the  sordidness  of 
current  life.  Indeed,  what  is  more  Romantic  than 
this  revulsion  ?  Has  he  not,  moreover,  and  always, 
something  of  Rene's  inheritance  ? 

As  a  writer  Flaubert  is  directly  in  touch  with 
Romanticism.  In  this  respect  nothing  is  more 
characteristic  than  his  admiration  for  Chateaubri- 
and, from  whose  works  he  recited  whole  pages. 
He  has  cared  only  for  art.  Even  in  his  own  life 
does  he  view  everything  as  an  artist.  "  As  soon  as 
one  perceives  the  accidents  of  the  world,"  he  says, 
"  they  become  so  transformed  into  an  illusion  to  be 
described,  that  all  things,  even  conscience,  seem  to 
have  no  other  utility."  "  Literature,"  which  was 
his  sole  passion,  he  made  consist  entirely  in  form. 
"  The  idea  is  born  of  the  form,"  he  repeated  ;  and 
the  Goncourt  brothers  relate  how,  for  an  entire 
afternoon,  he  read  in  stentorian  tones,  and  with  all 
the  "vociferations  of  the  boulevard  theatres,"  a 
novel  written  in  1848,  bearing  no  other  title  on  the 
cover  than  Fragments  de  style  quelconque.  One  day 
he  remarked  to  Theophile  Gautier :  "  My  task  is 
finished,  I  have  now  but  a  dozen  pages  to  write 
and  all  my  unpolished  phrases !  "  For  him  form 
possessed  its  own  value  independent  of  thought, 
and  through  the  sole  virtue  of  words  and  rhythm. 
One  of  his  disciples  tells  that,  in  the  beginning  of 
Un  coeur  simple,  the  last  word   of  each  paragraph 


The  Novel.  421 

serving  as  a  subject  for  the  following  paragraph 
produced  ambiguousness.  This  fault  was  pointed 
out  to  him ;  after  having  struggled  long  to  remedy- 
it,  he  finally  said :  "  Let  the  sense  take  care  of  itself, 
rhythm  before  all  things  !  "  Bringing  a  sort  of  mys- 
ticism to  his  theory  of  style,  he  believed  that  each 
idea  had  its  unique  expression,  and  that  each  unique 
expression  could  be  the  most  just  only  by  being  at 
the  same  time  the  most  harmonious  and  most  plas- 
tically beautiful.  To  his  eyes  the  substantive  with 
its  epithet  formed  an  absolute  whole.  In  a  well- 
constructed  period  he  saw  the  most  solid  of  edifices. 
He  suspected  necessary  though  occult  relations 
between  words,  of  which  the  artist  only  possesses 
the  intuition.  Form  representing  everything  to 
him,  he  set  out  in  pursuit  of  a  perfection  which 
tormented  him  until  it  had  been  attained.  He 
toiled  in  fury  until  the  beauty  of  words,  the  richness 
of  sounds,  and  the  harmony  of  cadences  gave  him 
full  and  complete  satisfaction.  He  never  pardoned 
the  slightest  blemish,  and  crossed  out  a  page  only 
to  efface  a  few  hiatuses.  "  Flaubert  is  tortured  by 
a  remorse  that  poisons  his  life,"  said  Gautier ;  "  it  is 
that  of  having  heaped  two  genitives  upon  each 
other  in  Madame  B ovary  :  Une  couronne  de  fieurs 
d'orangerr  We  have  been  told  how  he  passed  his 
nights  at  his  desk,  sometimes  silent  and  motionless, 
with  fixed  eyes  pursuing  for  hours  a  retreating 
adjective,  sometimes  seized  with  an  access  of  mad 
exasperation,  beating  with  his  clenched  fists,  swear- 
ing, groaning,  a  prey  to  what  he  called  his  "  affres,'* 
exhausting  himself  in  profitless  difficulties  created 


422  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

with  a  light  heart.  A  maniac  in  respect  to  style, 
which  might  well  have  been  treated  more  leniently, 
he  pushed  the  cult  of  art  even  to  puerile  supersti- 
tion, bringing  to  his  prose  as  many  scruples  as  the 
most  careful  of  poets  ever  brought  to  verse-making. 
For  this  our  language  is  none  the  less  indebted  to 
him;  and  Madame  Bovary  marks  a  date  not  only 
on  account  of  its  historical  signification,  but  also 
because  it  is  the  most  "artistically"  perfect  novel 
produced  by  our  century. 

Gustave  Flaubert  made  his  appearance  with  a 
masterpiece  which  at  once  made  him  celebrated, 
whereas  the  Goncourts  worked  long  years  before 
their  name  was  known  outside  a  narrow  circle  of 
fastidious  spirits.  "  Woe  to  works  of  art  whose 
beauty  is  for  artists  only !  "  exclaimed  d'Alembert. 
The  Goncourts,  who  condemned  this  apostrophe  as 
one  of  the  greatest  "  stupidities  "  ever  uttered,  would 
have  willingly  said :  "  Woe  to  works  of  art  whose 
beauty  is  not  for  artists  only !  "  Their  precious,  in- 
volved talents,  charmed  by  subtle  refinements,  could 
never  be  popular.  Even  scholars  were  long  in 
awarding  them  justice,  so  disconcerted  were  they  by 
a  manner  so  personal,  so  singularly  choice,  as  well 
as  scornfully  rebellious  of  all  discipline  and  all  tra- 
ditions. However,  the  authors  of  Sceur  Philomene 
and  Germinie  Lacerteux  have  finally  succeeded,  if 
not  in  forcing  themselves  upon  the  great  public,  at 
least  in  exercising  a  no  less  marked  influence  than 
Flaubert  upon  the  contemporary  novel. 

They  began  by  historiographical  studies,  towards 


The  Novel.  423 

which  their  love  of  artistic  objects  and  bric-a-brac 
first  turned  them.  They  were  attracted  by  the 
eighteenth  century  with  its  veneering  of  finical  ele- 
gance and  artificial  coquetry.  In  this  century  they 
also  found  the  manners  they  wished  to  describe, 
utilizing  not  only  documents,  correspondences,  "the 
black  cabinet  of  the  past,"  but  also  engravings, 
carvings,  bronzes,  furniture,  tapestries,  and  all  that 
stamps  an  epoch  with  its  imprint.  Their  regard 
for  a  complete,  scrupulous  truth  soon  led  them  to 
contemporary  monographs.  In  becoming  novelists, 
however,  the  novel  meant  no  more  to  them  than  a 
setting  for  the  minutely  exact  analysis  of  the  things 
and  men  found  beneath  their  eyes. 

"  One  can  only  render  well  what  one  sees,"  is 
their  favorite  maxim.  They  reduced  the  "  Roman- 
tic "  element  to  the  minimum  of  what  is  indispen- 
sable. With  them  imagination  served  not  to  invent, 
but  to  picture  with  the  utmost  vivacity  what  they 
observed  about  them.  In  this  they  truly  merit  the 
name  of  Realists.  "  What  constitutes  the  original 
novelist  is  the  direct  vision  of  humanity,"  says 
Edmond.  In  the  introduction  to  his  Manifesies  et 
prefaces,  and  as  the  highest  title  to  fame,  he  claims 
for  himself  and  his  brother  the  honor  of  having; 
"imparted  real  life  to  a  character  by  ten  years  of 
observation  of  a  human  being."  The  truth  at  which 
the  Goncourts  aim  is  that  of  the  moment,  what 
they  snatch  from  life  and  note  from  day  to  day. 
They  might  be  said  to  have  applied  to  literature  the 
methods  of  the  instantaneous  photograph.  They 
reproduce  the  society  of  their  times  in  the  multi- 


424  Literary  Movement  171  France. 

piicity  of  its  most  circumstantial  details,  transcrib- 
ing them  day  by  day,  before  the  impression  becomes 
enfeebled.  Whether  among  the  "  lower  classes  "  or 
the  aristocracy,  they  have  studied  with  the  utmost 
care  all  the  characters  they  portray  as  well  as  the 
milieux  they  describe. 

The  pages  of  their  journal  during  July  and  Au- 
gust of  1862  are  the  "documentary  embryo"  from 
which  they  composed  Germinie  Lacerteux  two  years 
later,  their  heroine  having  been  studied  while  in  the 
service  of  an  old  cousin.  Clierie,  a  Realistic  novel  of 
Parisian  aristocracy,  was  constructed  from  numer- 
ous notes  taken  by  "coups  de  lorgnon,"  all  their 
"  delicate  and  fleeting  elements  being  slowly  and 
minutely  collected."  They  themselves  remark  some- 
where that  the  "  substitution  of  the  particular  for 
the  general  is  what  most  differentiates  modern  from 
ancient  literature."  They  are  the  most  "  modern  " 
and  the  most  "particular"  of  our  novelists.  By 
catching  flagrant  reality  on  the  wing,  they  have 
portrayed  their  contemporaries  with  a  curiously 
expressive  similitude. 

Between  the  novel,  as  commonly  considered,  and 
their  conception  of  its  form,  there  is  a  contradic- 
tion which  they  themselves  were  the  first  to  feel. 
Edmond  confessed  that  he  had  been  unsuccessful 
in  giving  it  a  new  name.  Books  like  those  of  the 
Goncourts  only  belong  conventionally  to  Romantic 
literature.  For  them  the  novel  is  "  history  that 
might  have  been."  But  it  is  more  than  that,  for, 
with  the  exception  of  what  "  fiction "  they  supple- 
ment, it  is  truly  history  that  existed.     In  1864  they 


The  Novel.  425 

remarked :  "  To-day  the  novel  begins  to  assume  a 
serious,  impassioned,  living  form  of  literary  study 
and  social  inquiry,  and,  through  analysis  and  psycho- 
logical research,  is  becoming  contemporary  moral 
History."  Madame  Gervaisais  is  a  psychological 
study  of  morbid  religiosity  in  a  woman.  In  Renee 
Mauperin  they  sought  to  picture  with  as  little  im- 
agination as  possible  the  modern  young  girl,  as  de- 
veloped by  the  boyish  and  artistic  education  of  the 
last  thirty  years.  La  Fille  Elisa  is  entitled  a  severe 
monography  of  undisguised  prostitution.  Les  Freres 
Zemgamno,  written  in  one  of  those  states  of  soul 
when  the  too-true  truth  becomes  intolerable,  never- 
theless discloses,  together  with  its  share  of  poetic 
fantasy,  a  "serious  study  of  brotherly  friendship." 
Faustin  is  a  "  psychological  and  physiological  study 
of  a  young  girl  reared  and  educated  in  the  hothouse 
of  a  capital."  Cherie,  also  the  "monography  of  a 
young  girl,"  albeit  of  one  "  surrounded  by  elegance, 
wealth,  power,  and  the  best  of  good  society,"  was 
written  "  with  all  the  research  necessary  to  the  com- 
position of  a  historical  work." 

The  novel  of  the  Goncourts  "implies  the  tasks 
of  science."  It  is  an  incorporation  of  "human 
documents."  Of  this  expression,  since  so  abused, 
Edmond  claims  the  parentage,  because  he  saw  that 
it  would  "  most  clearly  and  significantly  define  the 
new  method  of  the  school  which  succeeded  Roman- 
ticism." The  authors  of  Germinie  Lacerteux  and 
la  Fille  Elisa  have  been  censured  for  their  coarse- 
ness. Germinie  Lacerteux  was  not  intended  to  be 
the  ''decollete  photograph  of  pleasure,"  but  the  "clinic 


426  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

of  love ; "  and  la  Fille  Elisa  is  recommended  as  a 
"  chaste,  austere  "  book,  in  which  the  author  some- 
times speaks  as  a  physician.  As  understood  by  the 
Goncourts,  the  psychological,  physiological,  patho- 
logical, sociological  novel  is  a  work  of  exact  science. 
The  lack  of  incidents  in  the  greater  number  of 
their  works  is  the  natural  result  of  this  conception. 
Having  reduced  action  to  what  is  strictly  necessary, 
they  confine  themselves  exclusively  to  the  study  of 
characters  and  the  description  of  manners.  If  they 
profess  scorn  for  that  "  temple  of  pasteboard  and 
conventionalities,"  the  theatre,  it  is  because  the 
grosser  interest  in  intrigue  here  overpowers  that 
higher  interest  towards  which  they  aim.  A  spoken 
literary  language  is  the  only  innovation  which  they 
grant  the  drama,  and  also  the  only  one  for  which 
the  drama  seems  to  them  to  be  adaptable.  Edmond 
dramatized  Germinie  Lacerteux,  while  but  three 
years  previously  he  had  remarked :  "  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  the  Naturalistic  theatre."  A  literary  form 
which  is  based  upon  action  necessarily  leaves  no 
place  for  a  minute,  complicated  psychology.  Ac- 
cording to  him,  even  novels,  and  he  does  not  except 
his  own,  give  much  too  large  a  place  to  incidents. 
In  a  preface  which  might  be  called  his  literary  tes- 
timony, he  responds  to  those  likely  to  find  the 
intrigue  of  his  Cherie  too  simple,  that  it  is  not 
sufficiently  so,  that  it  still  contains  too  many  inci- 
dents,—  adding  that,  if  he  were  once  more  young, 
he  would  write  novels  with  no  more  complication 
than  the  greater  part  of  living  dramas.  He  did  not 
hesitate  to  express  his  last  thought,  wliich  was,  that 


The  Novel.  427 

the  "  Romantic  "  style  would  finally  be  reduced  to 
pure  analysis. 

With  the  Goncourts  the  preference  for  scientific 
exactness  and  precision  is  united  with  a  nervous 
sensibility  which  is,  perhaps,  their  most  distinctive 
characteristic.  While  Flaubert  repressed  all  per- 
sonal emotion  by  a  constant,  powerful  effort,  the 
Goncourts  "  sweat "  their  books  "  with  their  blood." 
*'  We  find  the  works  we  read  written  with  the  pen, 
the  imagination,  the  brain  of  their  authors,"  they 
say,  *'  while  ours  seem  to  be  written  with  our  nerves 
and  our  sufferings."  And  elsewhere :  "  We  have 
been  the  first  writers  of  nerves."  Their  originality 
among  the  writers  of  this  school  lies  in  that  pecu- 
liar impressionability  of  the  senses  by  which  they 
grasp  what  is  most  subtle  and  most  refined  in  that 
perpetual  vibration  of  the  being  which  gives  to  their 
works  the  sensation  of  a  convulsive,  quivering  life. 
The  Goncourts  are  physically  crucified  beings,  mor- 
ally and  sensitively  flayed,  wounded  by  the  slightest 
impression,  without  envelope,  bleeding.  There  is 
something  morbid  in  their  excessive  nervous  ten- 
sion. But  is  not  something  morbid  necessary  in 
order  "  to  be  able  to  render  the  exquisite  refinement 
and  melancholy,  the  rare  and  rapturous  fantasies, 
which  play  upon  the  vibrating  chords  of  the  soul 
and  heart " }  They  feel  themselves  that  their  "  mal- 
ady "  counts  for  much  in  their  works.  They  pride 
themselves  less  upon  the  "possession  of  talent"  than 
upon  "discovering  impressionable  beings  of  infinite 
delicacy,  pulsating  in  a  superior  manner."  It  is  this 
impressionability,  after  all,  that  forms  the  basis  of 
their  talent. 


428  Literary  Movemeiit  in  France. 

So  also  is  this  true  as  regards  their  form.  In 
their  own  line  the  Goncourts  are  as  great  artists  as 
Flaubert.  Now,  Flaubert  employs  a  language  of 
severe  and  clearly  defined  contours,  of  full  and  sus- 
tained harmony,  sober  in  its  brilliancy,  faithful  to 
tradition  even  in  its  audacities,  without  neologisms 
and  irregularities,  having  a  Classical  symmetry 
which  gives  the  impression  of  definite  perfection. 
The  Goncourts,  however,  violate  syntax,  overload 
the  vocabulary,  and  dislocate  phrases,  with  no  other 
purpose  than  to  render  their  impression  in  all  its 
vivacity.  As  their  senses  are  always  in  vibration, 
their  style  might  be  said  to  have  contracted  a  fever. 
Held  by  their  restless  hands,  the  pen  traces  at  ran- 
dom hatchings  and  zigzags.  There  is  a  certain 
pulsation  about  their  expression.  They  subordinate 
the  rules  and  spirit  of  language  to  their  own  tem- 
perament and  feelings,  to  their  eager  impatience  to 
render  everything.  They  have  a  ferocious  dislike 
for  the  obscure,  the  formal,  and  for  that  regular, 
monotonous  style  taught  in  schools,  upon  which  the 
University  places  its  seal.  The  style  of  speech  pre- 
ferred by  them  is  that  which  "blunts  and  academizes 
the  least."  What  concern  of  theirs  what  college 
regents  call  barbarisms  or  solecisms  ?  They  do  not 
write  for  college  regents,  but  for  those  who  have  the 
most  delicate,  most  fastidious  appreciation  of  the 
French  prose  of  to-day,  for  those  who  consider  lan- 
guage not  made  but  always  making.  Their  "artistic 
writing  "  is  but  the  direct  and  immediate  portrayal 
of  infinitely  subtle  sensations.  In  order  to  render 
them  in  all  their  poignancy,  they  hesitate  neither  to 


The  Novel.  429 

create  a  more  expressive  word  nor  to  employ  an 
irregular  construction  which  will  "  impart  life  to 
their  phrase."  They  admit  both  laborious  inver- 
sions and  the  conjunction  of  absurd  words,  both  the 
perturbation  of  rhythm  and  medleys  of  color,  pro- 
vided that,  with  these  unusual  means,  they  can  make 
the  vivacity  of  their  expression  equal  that  of  the 
impression. 

The  two  Goncourts  have  been  the  "convicts  of 
the  book."  They  were  persecuted  by  sufferings 
which  did  not  allow  them  an  instant's  repose,  — 
Jules  by  intolerable  headaches,  and  Edmond  by 
stomach  troubles  "which  only  permitted  him  to 
live,  or  rather  resuscitate,  by  gas-light."  In  spite 
of  their  maladies  they  obstinately  remained  "  upon 
the  breach  of  work  and  thought ; "  one  of  them, 
however,  passing  away  while  still  young. 

To  them  nature  and  humanity  possess  interest 
only  as  subject-matter  for  their  observation  and 
composition.  On  the  street,  in  salons,  and  at  table, 
they  note  every  word,  gesture,  and  intonation  which 
may  be  of  profit  to  their  next  book.  Their  own  ego 
belonged  body  and  soul  to  "literature."  They 
spied  upon  themselves.  They  even  observed  their 
own  dreams,  "  courted  insomnia  for  the  good  for- 
tune of  night  fevers,"  and  pictured  themselves  in 
the  delirious  moments  of  a  malady  likely  to  carry 
them  off  at  any  moment.  Feeling  himself  mortally 
affected,  Jules  is  seized  with  the  fury  of  work,  and 
toils  without  relaxation  from  morn  till  night  over 
the  last  book  he  is  to  sign ;  unwilling  to  lose  a  mo- 
ment, this  "literary  press  wrings  out  the  last  hours 


430  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

of  a  mind  and  talent  soon  to  sink."  While  his 
brother  fights  the  terrible  malady  that  has  stricken 
his  brain,  Edmond,  during  nights  of  tears,  records 
the  notes  which  he  has  compared  to  the  cries  with 
which  great  physical  anguish  is  assuaged.  These 
notes  are  then  delivered  to  the  public.  Believing  it 
"  useful  to  the  history  of  letters  to  make  this  cruel 
study  of  the  pain  and  death  of  a  man  dying  of  lit- 
erature," he  "renounces  all  sensibility,"  to  rewrite 
the  words  that  rend  his  heart.  These  graphic 
words  reveal  the  ghastly  secrets  of  the  illness,  the 
intellectual  abasement,  the  moral  degradation,  and 
the  final  humiliations  of  human  nature.  Edmond 
and  Jules  de  Goncourt  have  had  no  other  concern 
than  for  their  art.  In  their  bodily  miseries  they 
would  have  gladly  made  a  compact  with  God  to 
allow  them  but  one  brain  with  which  to  create,  eyes 
with  which  to  see,  and  one  hand  to  hold  a  pen. 
But  these  very  miseries  they  owe  to  that  literature 
which  devours  them,  and  by  that  literature  of  the 
nerves  which  they  glory  in  having  created  they  also 
profit. 

Poets  and  physiologists  at  the  same  time,  they 
were  Naturalists  in  their  observation  and  rendering 
of  actual  reality,  as  well  as  Romanticists  in  their  su- 
perstitious regard  for  form,  which  almost  amounted 
to  mania,  and  in  their  choice  of  exceptional  char- 
acters and  circumstances.  In  reality,  they  belong 
to  no  particular  school,  and  must  be  classed  by 
themselves.  Unacquainted  with  the  Classics,  not 
only  with  Greco-Latin  antiquity,  but  also  with  that 
of  our  seventeenth  century,  they  only  appreciated 


The  Novel.  431 

that  "  modernity  "  of  which  their  works  are  the  most 
vivid  expression.  In  Greek  beauty  they  find  neither 
fantasy,  nor  mystery,  nor  yet  that  "  so  exalting,  so 
delusive,  so  strangely  enigmatical  grain  of  opium." 
They  consider  that  antiquity  was  intended  for  the 
bread  of  professors.  The  finest  works  of  French 
Classicism  lack  savor  in  their  eyes ;  for  them  they 
partake  of  that  tiresome  beauty  which  produces  the 
effect  of  a  pensum  of  the  Beautiful.  They  have  an 
aversion  for  simplicity,  sobriety,  and  tranquillity. 
They  delight  only  in  what  is  reflected  and  dis- 
torted, —  in  the  fastidious  refinements  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  their  favorite  epoch,  or  in  Jap- 
anese art,  with  its  strange  writhing  figures  of  atti- 
tudes and  proportions  predetermined  by  no  canons, 
which  they  boast  of  having  been  the  first  to  intro- 
duce to  us.  They  are  invalids  who  find  pleasure  in 
their  maladies  and  hold  health  in  abhorrence.  They 
are  admirable  artists,  if  this  may  mean  they  have 
rendered  by  words,  forms  of  expression,  and  rhythm 
what  is  most  poignant  in  sensation.  They  are, 
however,  dangerous  to  language  because  they  have 
severed  its  roots,  and  their  decadent,  neuropathic 
style  must  finally  end  in  complete  anarchy. 

Flaubert  and  the  Goncourts  have  exercised  a 
powerful  influence  upon  the  contemporary  novel; 
indeed,  they  are  the  masters  of  the  "  Naturalistic  '* 
method,  and  all  our  present  novelists  proceed  more  or 
less  directly  from  them.  These  two  works,  Madame 
Bovary  and  Genninie  Lacerteux,  are,  as  Jules  de 
Goncourt  said  of  the  second,  the  "  models  of  all  that 


432  Literary  Movement  in  Fraiice. 

has  since  appeared  under  the  name  of  '  ReaHsm, 
Naturahsm,  etc'  "  However,  if  the  new  form  which 
these  two  typical  works  gave  to  the  novel  has  been 
carried  out  in  its  essential  features  for  thirty  years, 
writers  such  as  Zola  and  Alphonse  Daudet  have,  by 
their  peculiar  originality,  sufficiently  diversified  it  to 
merit  special  study. 

Naturalism  found  its  legislator  in  Zola.  While 
others  spontaneously  followed  their  instincts  and 
the  natural  bent  of  their  fantasy,  even  in  the  most 
Realistic  portraitures,  Zola's  voluntary,  systematical 
mind  grounded  itself  upon  rational  principles. 
These  his  narrow,  persistent  logic  pursued  to  the 
limit  of  their  application.  Although  the  modern 
novel  had  long  been  in  existence,  he  was  the  first 
to  define  its  poetics.  This  is  why,  without  having 
created  anything  really  new,  he  can  be  considered 
as  the  leader  of  the  school  of  which  Flaubert  and 
the  Goncourts  were  the  initiators  and  earliest  mas- 
ters, and  for  which  he  prescribed  the  formulas. 
Everything  about  him  seems  suited  to  this  role,  — 
his  resolute  character  and  categorical  mind,  his 
obstinate  determination,  his  militant  disposition,  and 
even  that  self-confidence  which  is  no  less  a  virtue 
in  the  leaders  of  schools  than  in  the  founders  of 
empires.  He  was  the  first  to  give  Naturalism  a 
doctrine. 

Has  he,  then,  been  a  Naturalist  in  the  full  sense 
of  the  word  1  Is  he  content  with  copying  nature } 
Does  he  present  it  as  it  is  without  modifying  it 
according  to  his  mental  bias  and  imagination  ?     He 


The  Novel.  433 

has  never  pretended  that  art  might  be  reduced  to 
a  simple  copy.  Without  applying  to  him  those 
maxims  with  which  his  adversaries  found  it  only  too 
easy  to  place  him  in  contradiction,  it  is  evident  that 
the  hierophant  of  Naturalism  has  never  strictly  em- 
ployed his  own  theories. 

Zola  is  something  of  a  Romanticist,  and  he  is 
himself  aware  of  it ;  for  whatever  effort  he  makes,  he 
never  entirely  succeeds  in  ejecting  that  "virus" 
which  Romanticism  has  inoculated  into  his  system. 
Although  the  implacable  theorist  of  the  scientific, 
experimental,  documentary  novel  in  his  prefaces  and 
manifestoes,  this  does  not  prevent  him  from  being 
a  poet.  Zola  is  a  poet  in  his  invincible  tendency 
to  synthesis  and  idealization.  The  real  world  never 
gives  us  two  examples  of  the  same  species,  and  true 
Realists  must  therefore  picture  individuals,  —  that 
is,  men  each  of  whom  stands  for  himself.  Now,  the 
greater  part  of  the  characters  presented  by  Zola  are 
of  general  signification,  and  sum  up  all  that  cate- 
gory belonging  to  the  same  class  of  society,  or  that 
entire  family  having  approximately  the  same  com- 
plexion. He  heaps  upon  a  single  subject  all  the 
traits  which  he  has  observed  here  and  there  in  a 
great  number  of  individuals,  not  to  speak  of  those 
he  invents.  Thus  composed,  his  creations  assume 
a  typical  character,  than  which  nothing  is  more 
contrary  to  the  principles  of  his  jealous,  exclusive 
Realism.  This  need  for  idealization  is  no  less 
evident  in  his  delineation  of  things  than  in  that  of 
people.     His    imagination     not    only    exaggerates 

them,   accentuates  their    contrasts,    enlarges   their 

28 


434  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

proportions,  but  even  animates  and  imparts  to  them 
a  mysterious  existence.  It  has  been  remarked  that 
for  almost  all  his  works  he  borrows  from  inert 
matter  some  symbol  to  sum  up  their  purport;  this 
emblematical  monster,  sometimes  the  Tavern,  some- 
times the  Shop,  sometimes  the  Mine,  he  constitutes 
the  principal  personage  of  his  novel.  The  titles  of 
certain  of  his  books,  Germinal,  rCEuvre,  la  Terre, 
indicate  their  symbolical  character.  Indeed,  the 
general  conception  of  the  Rougon-  Mac  quart  is  very 
little  Realistic.  Of  that  family  whose  natural  his- 
tory he  wishes  to  write,  Zola  first  composes  a  gen- 
ealogical tree  so  fictive  in  symmetry  that  it  at  once 
belies  his  pretension. 

The  fundamental  dogma  of  Naturalism  is  to  por- 
tray only  reality  taken  from  actuality.  Let  us  do 
justice  to  Zola's  effort,  the  sincere,  patient  applica- 
tion which  he  brings  to  the  study  of  his  characters, 
circumstances,  and  conditions.  But  where  and  how 
does  he  study  them  ?  We  are  told  that  he  prepares 
each  of  his  works  by  living  several  weeks,  possibly 
several  months,  in  the  milieux  he  wishes  to  describe ; 
but  who  would  not  find  such  knowledge  necessarily 
cursory  and  superficial,  also  subordinated  to  particular 
views  and  ideas,  and  in  all  cases  to  a  predetermined 
plan }  Moreover,  the  limits  which  Zola  assigns  him- 
self at  the  outset  have  long  since  rendered  impos- 
sible the  direct  analysis  of  the  men  and  things  he 
represents,  for  such  profound  modifications  have 
taken  place  in  our  manners  during  the  past  twenty 
years  that  the  "  notes "  taken  upon  society  to-day 
are  no  longer  true  of  the  second  Empire.     He   is 


The  Novel.  435 

therefore  reduced  to  two  alternatives,  both  of  which 
are  equally  unwelcome  to  the  true  "  Naturalist,"  —  he 
may  apply  the  observations  of  the  present  to  an 
already  remote  epoch,  or  he  may  search  books  for 
what  actual  reality  cannot  furnish  him.  He  follows 
both  of  these  methods,  but  most  particularly  does  he 
substitute  the  "  experimental "  study  of  life  by  labo- 
rious readings,  too  often  seeking  in  libraries  the 
"  human  documents  "  upon  which  he  works. 

His  method  of  incorporating  materials  is  no 
more  in  accord  with  his  theory  than  the  manner 
in  which  he  has  collected  them.  Zola  does  not 
reproduce  what  is  accidental  and  unusual  in  reality ; 
he  constructs  his  books  solidly,  working  according 
to  a  geometrical  plan  and  abandoning  nothing  to 
chance.  His  characters  perform  automatically ;  all 
their  activity  seems  to  tend  towards  the  demon- 
stration of  the  character  with  which  he  has  endowed 
them.  A  method  not  less  rigorous  governs  his 
"fiction":  he  dominates  and  disciplines  reality, 
subjects  its  elements  to  his  requirements,  and  com- 
pletes it  by  inventing  the  new  data  demanded  by 
the  logical  progress  of  action.  The  doctrinaire  of 
"  Naturalism  "  obviously  merits  criticism  for  having 
submitted  nature  to  his  instinctive  need  for  order 
and  symmetry.  He  treats  it  as  formless  matter  to 
be  fashioned  by  art :  his  abstract,  logical  deductions 
determine  both  the  combinations  of  action  and  the 
development  of  characters. 

In  what  does  Zola's  Naturalism,  then,  consist  ? 
Can  he  not  justly  be  condemned  for  presenting  his 
Rongon-Macquart  as  a  scientific  work  founded  upon 


436  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

the  laws  of  heredity  ?  When  scientists  themselves 
declare  that  these  laws  escape  them,  and  scarcely 
dare  hazard  their  conjectures,  how  can  we  credit  a 
novelist,  even  supposing  conscientious  study  ?  Does 
he  not  rkecessarily  add  to  all  the  suppositions  of 
science  upon  this  so  obscure  and  uncertain  ques- 
tion, not  only  all  that  is  hypothetical  and  gratui- 
tous in  Romanticism,  but  all  the  doubtful  surmises 
of  his  incoercible  imagination  ?  The  fearless  confi- 
dence with  which  Zola  erects  his  monuments  upon 
so  precarious  a  foundation  betrays  the  influence  of 
the  Romantic  demon  which  he  has  never  been  able 
to  exorcise.  Romanticism  is  even  evident  in  his 
"physiology."  His  physiological  novel  is  no  more 
serious  in  its  line  than  Dumas'  historical  novel ; 
Dumas  hung  his  pictures  upon  the  nail  of  history ; 
Zola  attaches  his  to  that  of  physiology. 

If  Naturalism  be  understood  to  mean  what  the 
word  really  signifies,  —  the  scrupulous  observation 
of  nature,  —  the  author  of  the  Rougon-Macquart 
is  not  a  true  Naturalist.  His  originality  cannot  be 
found  in  an  aesthetical  conception  which  was  in  no 
sense  new,  and  to  which  he  did  not  remain  faithful, 
but  in  a  candid  and  cynical  materialism  which 
reduces  human  life  to  the  fatal  activity  of  appetites. 
He  gives  us  his  profession  of  faith  in  his  preface 
to  Therese  Raquin  ;  his  purpose  is  to  study  "  tem- 
peraments, not  characters."  Zola  is  not  a  psychol- 
ogist. He  may  succeed  in  portraying  coarse,  simple 
natures,  in  whom  sentiment  cannot  be  distinguished 
from  sensation ;  but  when  he  applies  his  analysis  to 
less  rudimentary  souls,  it  becomes  incapable  of  pene- 


The  Novel.  437 

trating  their  inner  life,  and  all  psychology  is  stifled 
by  a  brutal  physiology.  His  favorite  heroes  are 
those  in  which  neurotic  disorders  have  ruined  the 
slightest  attempts  at  resistance.  In  such  charac- 
ters the  psychologist  finds  little  to  interest  him. 
What  subject-matter  could  he  find  in  characters 
"  supremely  ruled  by  nerves  and  blood "  1  That 
Zola  makes  neuropathy  the  starting-point  of  all  his 
works  indicates  their  significance.  In  the  same 
manner  he  suppresses  as  far  as  possible  all  those 
free  forces  of  the  will  and  intelligence  that  might 
serve  to  check  the  fatal  influences  of  temperament. 
At  the  outset  he  announced  himself  for  what  he  is, 
—  the  painter  of  man,  but  most  particularly  of  what 
he  calls  the  "bete  humaine." 

This  materialism  is  not  without  its  greatness. 
Endowing  it  with  some  occult  existence,  Zola  trans- 
fers to  matter  the  ideal  of  the  mind.  There  is  a 
sombre,  formidable  poetry  in  this  fatalism.  The 
Rougon- Mac  quart  makes  us  feel  the  oppression  of 
destiny.  The  fatality  which  reigns  over  them  is 
purely  animal ;  but  Zola  forcibly  expresses  its  mys- 
terious and  inevitable  consequences  with  relentless 
monotony,  intense  gravity,  and  a  terrible  imperson- 
ality. Particularly  in  this  respect  does  his  work 
resemble  a  poem  rather  than  a  drama,  since  it  con- 
ceives man  as  a  passive  being,  the  slave  of  his  tem- 
perament, and  incapable  of  reacting  against  the 
domination  of  things.  It  is  a  mournful,  grandiose 
epopee,  inspired  from  beginning  to  end  by  the  con<- 
sciousness  of  those  blind  forces  that  bend  human 
life  beneath  their  despotism. 


438  Literary  Movement  m  France. 

Zola's  form  is  in  close  accord  with  this  inspira- 
tion. There  is  nothing  personal  about  his  style : 
it  is  characterized  by  a  uniform  plenitude,  something 
copious,  slow,  and  spiritless,  and  a  sturdy,  patient 
regularity,  without  charm,  delicacy,  or  invention  of 
detail,  having  no  other  movement  than  that  of  large 
wholes.  There  is  no  flexibility,  no  vivacity;  but  a 
litany  of  massive  phrases  varied  by  no  accident  and 
enlivened  by  no  picturesque  features.  His  style 
partakes  of  the  recitative.  In  so  much  as  the  move- 
ment of  the  Goncourts  is  nervous,  convulsive,  discon- 
nected, is  that  of  Zola  equal,  uniform,  imperturbable. 
In  so  far  as  the  Goncourts  delight  in  refinement 
and  fastidiousness,  does  Zola,  especially  in  his  latest 
novels  and  recent  manner,  make  light  of  what  he 
calls  "ragout."  He  avoids  no  opportunity  of  de- 
claring that  our  literature  should  "  return  to  the 
clear,  flowing  language  of  the  seventeenth  century  in 
order  to  react  against  the  pernicious  influence  of 
Romanticism."  He  says  excellently :  "  One  writes 
well  when  one  gives  an  idea  or  a  sensation  its  just 
expression;  and  the  whole  art  of  writing  consists 
in  having  a  vivid  impression  of  what  we  speak,  and 
rendering  this  impression  with  the  greatest  possible 
intensity."  He  wishes  to  maintain  the  "simple 
grandeur  of  our  national  genius ;  "  and  although  he 
has  not  always  avoided  all  circumlocutions,  in  the 
breadth  of  its  vigorous  rectitude  his  style  may  be 
said  to  belong  to  Classical  tradition.  However,  the 
simplicity  which  he  extols  too  often  lacks  accent 
and  character,  and  the  precision  which  he  rightly 
regards  as  the  fundamental  of  all  qualities  escapes 


The  Novel.  439 

him  in  the  delicacy  of  its  shading.  Zola  is  not  a 
great  writer ;  he  has  not  marked  language  with  his 
imprint.  He  is  not  always  a  good  writer,  — that  is, 
an  exact  or  even  a  correct  writer.  He  writes  not 
only  without  grace  but  without  tact,  and  sometimes 
without  precision.  All  this,  however,  does  not  pre- 
vent his  gross,  thick,  cumbrous  style  from  producing 
in  the  end  the  impression  of  stolid  vigor  and  rigid 
grandeur  in  close  accord  with  the  dominion  of  that 
ponderous,  inexorable  fatality  which  hangs  over  the 
epopee  of  the  Rougon-Macquart. 

Alphonse  Daudet  is  of  the  same  school  as  Zola, 
although  not  of  the  same  family.  There  exists  as 
much  dissimilarity  between  these  two  novelists  as 
is  possible  between  those  who  make  profession  of 
Naturalism.  Profession }  In  reality,  this  word  is 
much  more  applicable  to  Zola  than  to  Daudet,  who 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  acknowledged  any 
doctrine.  In  this  consists  an  evident  divergence ; 
and  if  we  would  note  the  contrasts  of  their  natures, 
it  will  be  well  to  begin  by  opposing  what  is  delib- 
erate and  methodical  in  the  one  with  the  sponta- 
neity, the  indifference  to  doctrine  and  heedless 
vivacity  of  the  other.  In  Daudet's  words,  Zola 
proceeds  "  like  his  engineer  father ;  "  he  advances 
slowly  and  surely,  daily  transcribing  his  three  or  four 
pages  with  mechanical  regularity.  Daudet  com- 
poses his  novels  much  less  than  they  are  composed 
unconsciously.  Writing  "wholesale,"  he  throws 
ideas  and  events  upon  paper  without  giving  him- 
self time  for  a  complete  or  even  a  correct  wording. 


440  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

In  this  condition  he  leaves  them  to  return  later  to 
his  first  inspiration.  While  Zola  studies  printed 
documents  or  unwittingly  abandons  himself  to  his 
instinct  of  divination,  Daudet  confines  himself 
closely  to  living  reality,  and  his  entire  method  con- 
sists in  fixing  the  direct  impressions  he  has  gath- 
ered. The  one  betrays  nothing  of  himself;  indeed, 
in  none  of  the  actors  of  the  Rougon-Macquart  do 
we  find  a  single  individual  in  which  the  author 
displays  the  slightest  interest.  The  other  throws 
himself  completely  into  his  works,  and  from  le  Petit 
Chose,  a  sort  of  autobiography,  he  has  neither  ceased 
to  tell  about  himself  nor  to  engage  both  his  curios- 
ity and  his  sympathy  in  the  characters  he  pictures. 
The  one  does  not  retreat  from  what  is  ignoble,  but 
rather  seems  to  delight  in  it ;  and  his  work  only 
merits  the  name  of  Realism  when  it  exposes  to  all 
eyes  the  vileness  of  human  bestiality.  The  other 
portrays  evil  with  no  less  force,  but  in  always  hold- 
ing himself  above  what  is  too  obscene  in  reality,  for 
his  delicacy  suffers  from  contact  with  vulgarity  and 
certain  odors  nauseate  him.  The  first  employs  a 
language  too  dense,  too  compact,  and  too  forcible  in 
its  ponderousness ;  the  second  writes  in  the  airi- 
est, most  flexible,  most  evanescent  of  styles,  always 
in  motion,  intangible  in  its  variety,  so  vivid,  so  rapid, 
and  so  spontaneous  that  it  seems  to  speak.  But,  in 
order  to  make  a  complete  study  of  Daudet,  we  must 
successively  take  up  the  points  upon  which  we  have 
just  touched  in  comparing  him  with  Zola. 

Daudet  works  in  a  sort  of  fever.     Even  before 
beginning  to  write  his  books,  he  has  related,  acted, 


The  Novel.  441 

and  almost  "  lived  "  them.  This  habit  responds  to 
a  necessity  of  his  nature,  and  this  he  also  consti- 
tutes his  process  of  composition.  The  original 
sketch  is  only  an  improvisation,  but  with  the  second 
version  begins  what  he  calls  the  painful  part  of  his 
labor.  He  first  abandons  himself  to  his  fancy,  giv- 
ing free  rein  to  his  troubadour  instincts.  The  sub- 
ject urges  him  on  and  outstrips  him ;  his  hand  glides 
rapidly  over  the  paper  without  writing  all  the  words, 
or  even  pausing  to  punctuate,  in  the  effort  to  follow 
the  fever  of  his  toiling  brain  by  hastily  stenograph- 
ing ideas  and  sentiments.  Only  with  that  "  trem- 
bling of  the  fingers,"  with  him  a  sign  of  inspiration, 
does  he  take  up  his  pen.  He  at  once  launches  into 
the  full  current  of  the  action.  As  his  figures  are 
already  "  on  foot  in  his  mind,"  he  loses  no  time  in 
introducing  them  in  full  activity.  The  greater  part 
of  his  novels  consists  in  a  series  of  pictures  or  epi- 
sodes which  pass  in  file  beneath  our  eyes.  There 
are  no  preludes  either  at  the  outset  or  in  passing 
from  one  chapter  to  another ;  he  explains  the  situa- 
tion by  a  word,  leaving  the  reader  to  imagine  such 
events  as  are  not  adapted  to  an  entirely  actual  mise 
671  scene.  He  renders  only  what  moves  his  heart 
and  sets  his  nerves  in  vibration,  —  what  is  dramatic, 
picturesque,  and  animated  in  human  affairs. 

His  books  are  not  derived  from  an  abstract  con- 
ception. They  do  not  start  out  from  some  point  of 
view  anterior  to  observation,  predetermining  the  dis- 
position of  events  and  personages,  but  from  a  per- 
sonal and  immediate  impression  of  real  things.  He 
has  described  the  growth  of  the  novel  in  his  mind. 


442  Literary  Movement  in  Fra^tce. 

Early  in  life  he  formed  the  habit  of  "  collecting  a 
multitude  of  little  note-books,  in  which  his  remarks 
and  thoughts,  sometimes  condensed  into  a  single 
line,  sufficed  to  recall  a  gesture  or  an  exclamation 
to  be  later  developed  and  enlarged  into  harmony 
with  some  important  work."  With  watchful  eyes, 
ever-ready  ears,  and,  as  Edmond  de  Goncourt  says, 
"  all  his  senses  like  the  feelers  of  an  octopus,"  he  lies 
in  wait  to  absorb  reality.  Each  day  he  notes  down 
his  impressions  while  still  fresh.  At  Paris,  while 
travelling,  or  in  the  country,  he  covers  the  pages  of 
his  note-book,  giving  no  thought  to  the  "work  heap- 
ing up  before  him."  When  particularly  impressed 
by  a  certain  figure,  about  which  his  notes  accumu- 
late, it  evokes  the  idea  of  a  book  in  which  it  will  play 
the  principal  role.  Characters  pre-exist  his  works; 
he  but  writes  their  actual  history.  The  events  and 
milieux  found  in  his  works  are  as  strictly  exact  as 
are  his  types  of  character ;  types,  events,  and  milieux 
are  copied  from  nature.  "  To  copy  from  nature,"  he 
has  said,  "has  been  my  only  method  of  work."  It 
is  his  ideal  to  "  write  in  the  atmosphere  of  his  sub- 
jects." One  of  his  sweetest  recollections  is  of  the 
time  he  passed  writing  Fromont  jeujie  et  Risler  atne 
in  an  old  dwelling  of  the  Marais.  From  his  study, 
opening  on  the  garden,  he  could  see  the  "bustling 
life  of  the  faubourg,  the  curling  smoke  of  the  factories, 
the  rumbling  trucks  .  .  .  The  whole  quarter  toiled 
for  me,"  he  said.  To  the  action  of  his  novels  Dau- 
det  adapts  foreign  episodes;  so  also  in  the  same 
novel  does  he  bring  together  characters  observed  in 
different  places.     However,  he  supplies  as  little  as 


Tlie  Novel.  443 

possible,  only  inventing  what  is  required  to  bind 
together  his  episodes  and  characters.  The  most 
humble  figures  he  represents  are  "reminiscences," 
and  his  superstition  for  the  real  carries  him  so  far 
that  he  sometimes  retains  his  models'  names,  fearing 
that  something  of  their  integrity  might  be  lost  in 
the  transformation  of  their  names.  Others  uncon- 
sciously substitute  their  own  inventions  for  nature ; 
he  cannot  dispense  with  the  true,  and  "  not  without 
remorse,"  says  Goncourt,  "has  he  more  than  once 
immolated  a  relative,  a  memory,"  to  this  imperious 
necessity  of  working  upon  a  living  model,  of  biting 
into  the  raw  reality. 

To  the  impressionability  of  the  Goncourts,  Daudet 
unites  tenderness.  Not  only  are  his  nerves  sensi- 
tive, but  also  his  heart.  With  him  the  vivacity  of 
sentiment  equals  that  of  sensation.  He  interests 
himself  in  his  characters,  and,  in  loving  them,  makes 
us  love  them.  He  does  not  force  himself  upon  the 
scene, — indeed,  nowhere  directly  intervenes  in  his 
narrative;  but  his  sympathy  animates  them  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  a  gesture,  an  exclamation, 
sometimes  escapes,  unwittingly  betraying  his  emo- 
tion. If  his  figures  give  us  the  illusion  of  life,  it  is 
because  they  live  in  his  heart  as  well  as  in  his  imagi- 
nation. Flaubert  remains  insensible  to  the  misfor- 
tunes of  Charles  Bovary;  he  withdraws  into  an 
implacable  conserv^atism,  refusing  our  ready  sympa- 
thy the  expected  word.  Like  Bovary,  Risler  also 
has  his  short-comings;  but  they  do  not  forbid  our 
pity.  Daudet  "feels  the  love  of  Dickens  for  the 
poor  and  disgraced."     His  favorite  heroes  are  the 


444  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

refined  rendered  unhappy  by  their  refinement.  In 
order  to  write  Jack,  he  lays  aside  le  Nabab,  already 
begun,  and  in  less  than  a  year  produces  that  so  ten- 
der and  cruel  book,  in  which  cruelty  is  but  a  form 
of  tenderness.  This  work  caused  the  intrepid  toiler, 
George  Sand,  such  a  heart-ache  that  she  was  unable 
to  write  for  three  entire  days  after  reading  it.  His 
sympathy  embraces  the  most  uncouth  and  most  vul- 
gar of  characters,  however  little  they  seem  to  merit 
it;  and  we  feel  that  he  takes  pleasure  in  rescuing 
them  from  ridicule  and  even  from  scorn  by  some 
noble  attitude  or  generous  enthusiasm.  He  really 
loves  his  Nabab,  is  not  without  affection  for  his 
Roumestan,  and  finds  means  of  raising  up  his  Astier- 
Rehu  by  giving  him  at  the  last  a  dignity  that  com- 
mands our  esteem. 

Daudet  is  spontaneously  optimistical,  and  in  this 
is  he  distinguished  from  all  the  novelists  of  the  con- 
temporary school.  There  are  characters  quite  as 
depraved  as  those  of  Flaubert  and  Zola  to  be  found 
in  his  works ;  but  we  feel  by  the  manner  in  which 
he  presents  them  that  he  despises  their  bestiality. 
Now,  the  pessimist  who  considers  bestiality  the  basis 
of  man's  nature  is  not  accessible  to  indignation. 
Furthermore,  Daudet  does  not  find  it  necessary  al- 
ways to  portray  human  nature  as  stupid,  false,  or  ab- 
ject, admitting  no  element  of  goodness,  kindness,  or 
virtue.  His  books  almost  always,  if  only  incident- 
ally, present  some  chosen  individual  who  is  an  honor 
to  humanity.  When  he  varies  his  constant  method 
of  working  only  upon  models,  it  is  precisely  to  invent, 
when  not  supplied  by  reality,  a  sweet,  amiable  crea- 


The  Novel.  445 

ture  to  bear  the  burden  of  his  invincible  need  of 
believing  that  pure,  high,  refined  souls  still  exist  in 
the  world.  Perhaps  his  imagination  is  sometimes 
too  complaisant ;  perhaps  his  works  sometimes  con- 
tain fictitious,  conventional  types,  whose  features  it 
has  evidently  pleased  him  to  embellish.  Relentless 
pessimists  do  not  forgive  him  characters  like  Aline 
Joyeuse  and  Andre  Marsanne,  and  accuse  him  of 
falsifying  human  nature,  of  endowing  it  with  imagi- 
nary graces  and  virtues ;  but  does  not  their  unruly 
pessimism  also  falsify  human  nature  by  presenting 
only  its  baseness  and  horrors  under  the  pretext  of 
being  true  to  life? 

Alphonse  Daudet's  characteristic  originality  con- 
sists in  an  exquisitely  measured  union  of  poetry  and 
reality.  He  began  by  verse,  —  charming  madrigals, 
elegies  of  airy  grace,  dainty  nothings,  in  which  his 
aesthetic  fantasy  and  delicate  tenderness  found  play. 
It  is  a  long  way  from  his  Amoureuses  to  his  Nabab 
and  Sapho.  Nevertheless,  something  of  the  poetic 
spirit  which  inspired  his  youth  is  to  be  found  in  the 
works  of  his  vigorous  maturity.  Daudet  possesses 
the  lightest,  keenest,  and  boldest  of  the  poet's  gifts. 
It  is  needless  to  recall  those  delicate  creations  which 
exhale  so  fresh  and  so  pure  a  charm, — a  Desiree 
Delobelle,  a  sweet,  humble  invalid,  giving  her  dreams 
the  wings  of  the  birds  she  feeds.  Even  in  his  most 
Realistic  books  is  the  poetic  vein  revealed,  not  only 
by  his  personal  emotion  and  human  sympathy,  but 
also  by  that  grain  of  the  Romantic  which  imparts 
greater  interest  to  the  reality.  He  is  a  poet  in  the 
delicacy  of  his  psychological  analysis,  In  his  repug- 


446  Literary  Movemeni  in  France. 

nance  for  the  grossness  of  physiology,  in  his  prompt- 
ness in  grasping  things  on  the  wing,  in  the  vivacity 
of  an  imagination  which  lends  them  an  incom- 
parable relief.  Nor  is  the  poet  less  evident  in  that 
perpetually  inventive  language  which  is  instanta- 
neously created  in  order  to  render  what  he  sees  in 
the  richness  of  its  coloring  and  the  clearness  of  its 
contours. 

Daudet's  style,  doubtless,  retains  something  of 
its  first  process  of  improvisation.  He  does  not,  of 
course,  give  us  his  first  sketch;  he  has  supplied  the 
omissions  and  effaced  the  blemishes  of  the  hastily 
written  draught,  which  was  dictated  by  his  poetic 
fury.  He  has  re-read  it  several  times,  and,  in  copy- 
ing it,  retouches  many  phrases,  revising  and  "  refin- 
ing "  them.  This  facile  prose,  seeming  to  have  cost 
no  effort,  is  the  triumph  of  an  ingenious  and  schol- 
arly art.  The  writer  has  himself  called  it  his  "slow 
and  conscientious  method."  In  order  not  to  yield 
to  that  "  tyrannical  desire  which  causes  artists  to  re- 
write a  page  ten  or  twenty  times,"  he  gives  his  first 
chapters  of  his  novels  to  one  of  the  journals  as  soon 
as  they  are  finished.  If  he  returns  to  his  work,  it  is 
only  to  correct  the  faults  of  improvisation,  always 
preserving  its  audacious  freedom  and  passionate 
verve.  Instead  of  describing  things,  his  active,  living 
style  transcribes  them  as  they  appear,  thus  suppress- 
ing all  surfeit  of  words  likely  to  impede  movement, 
and  adapting  rhythm  to  his  successive  impressions. 
He  multiplies  ellipses,  inversions,  and  alliances  of  un- 
expected words,  employs  the  most  significant  terms 
from  all  vocabularies,  and  subordinates  style  to  the 


The  Novel.  447 

portrayal  of  the  natural  vivacity  of  sensations.  In 
his  free,  unequal  style  Daudet  recalls  the  Goncourts. 
He  is,  however,  more  scrupulous,  has  a  firmer  equi- 
librium, and  is  less  involved  and  less  agitated.  He 
neither  delights  in  gratuitous  singularities  of  diction, 
affects  curious  neologisms,  nor  prefers  expressions 
remote  from  common  usage.  His  style  is  admirably 
flexible  without  being  disjointed,  mobile  without  rest- 
lessness, expressive  without  grimaces.  Even  in  his 
audacities  and  irreverences  he  conciliates  "modern- 
ity "  and  "  nervosity  "  with  appreciation  for  measure, 
fitness,  and  harmony.  There  is  something  of  the 
Classicist  to  be  found  in  this  impressionist. 


44S  Literary  Alovenient  in  Fraiice, 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE     THEATRE. 


IN  making  the  drama  a  complete  representation 
of  life,  Romanticism  attempted  to  substitute  it 
for  the  two  styles  which  the  ancient  poetics  had 
maintained  with  such  severe  distinction.  In  bring- 
ing tragic  and  comic  elements  together,  its  creators 
expected  the  drama  to  replace  both  tragedy  and 
comedy.  Classic  tragedy,  having  a  form  in  open 
discord  with  society  as  brought  about  by  the  revolu- 
tion, could  not  exist  in  opposition  to  the  new  de- 
velopment to  which  it  at  once  abandoned  the  stage. 
Through  an  inevitable  reaction  against  its  extrava- 
gances, while  demanding  the  support  of  Romanti- 
cism, it  only  momentarily  regained  public  favor  less 
than  fifteen  years  later,  when  the  downfall  of  les 
Burgraves  seemed  to  leave  the  field  open.  Al- 
though tragedy  might  henceforth  have  no  other 
form  than  the  drama,  whatever  place  it  might  give 
to  the  comic,  the  drama  could  never  be  a  substitute 
for  comedy.  Victor  Hugo  had  talked  of  supple- 
menting Corneille  by  Moliere ;  but  who  could  not 
see  contradiction  in  such  a  pretence.''  In  vain  did 
the  Romanticists  mingle  tears  with  laughter,  and 
succeed  the  "  grotesque  "  by  the   "  sublime ;  "  com- 


The  Theatre.  449 

edy,  considered  as  pictures  of  modern  society,  was 
necessarily  excluded  from  the  Romantic  drama. 
Ignoring  the  realities  of  contemporary  environment, 
they  found  themselves  at  home  in  legend  or  history ; 
and  although  several  of  the  new  school,  Alexandre 
Dumas  among  others,  sometimes  found  their  sub- 
jects and  characters  about  them,  they  were  dramas 
of  passion  rather  than  comedies  of  manners.  In- 
deed, does  not  one  of  the  characters  in  Anthony  ex- 
plain to  the  public  why  comedies  of  manners  have 
become  impossible  '^.  Could  any  one  deny  that  such 
works  of  Alfred  de  Musset  as  Fantasio  and  O71  ne 
badine  pas  avec  r amour  express  what  is  most  spark- 
ling in  the  poet's  mind,  most  fresh  and  graceful  in 
his  imagination,  most  delicate  and  penetrating  in 
his  tenderness }  But  he  does  not  portray  that 
contemporary  reality  which  is  the  true  sphere  of 
comedy ;  he  creates  an  ideal,  capricious  world  of 
fanciful  dreams,  in  which  he  seeks  refuge  from  the 
platitudes  and  vulgarities  of  the  real  world. 

During  the  reign  of  Romanticism  comedy  was  con- 
fined to  Scribe.  This  wonderful  practician  never 
allowed  other  than  phantoms  to  pass  over  the  stage. 
His  '' pensioitnaires  of  much-sought-after  wealth,  his 
millionaires  of  unbounded  aspirations,  his  artists  sup- 
ported by  bankers'  wives,"  found  no  more  favor  with 
Realism  than  the  respectable  bandits  of  the  Roman- 
tic drama  or  its  earthworms  sighing  for  stars. 

Realism  began  by  transforming  the  novel,  which 
was  better  adapted  than  other  literar^^  styles  to  the 
direct,  faithful  representation  of  modern  life.  It 
turned  but  slowly  to  the  theatre,  for  the  fundamen- 


450  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

tal  necessities  of  dramatic  art  at  first  seemed  to  ex- 
clude the  fine,  detailed  analyses  of  the  Realistic 
novel.  Balzac  was  the  first  to  attempt  to  give  dra- 
matic form  to  the  characters,  manners,  and  envi- 
ronments which  he  had  so  vividly  and  truthfully 
pictured  in  his  novels.  This  was,  however,  only 
during  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  and  neither  through 
preference  nor  by  vocation,  but  urged  by  the  ever- 
increasing  need  of  money.  Furthermore,  he  be- 
lieved the  theatre  an  inferior  form  of  literary  art,  — 
the  most  false  and  the  most  facile  of  all  styles. 
With  the  exception  of  Mercadet,  which  was  only 
placed  on  the  stage,  considerably  revised,  after  his 
death,  all  his  dramatic  works  failed  to  win  public 
approval.  Some  of  them,  Quinola  for  instance, 
were  received  with  hisses;  others,  like  Pamela  Gi- 
raud  and  la  Maratre,  with  indifferent  silence.  Bal- 
zac's talent  could  not  be  adapted  to  the  theatre.  In 
respect  to  neither  action  nor  character  did  he  grasp 
that  sober,  lucid  unity  so  necessary  to  the  drama. 
Forced  to  abridge  the  minute  features,  the  exact 
descriptions,  and  the  patiently  accumulated  details 
which  succeeded  in  imparting  to  his  novels  the 
semblance  of  reality,  he  thus  lost  what  was  most 
significant  in  his  complex,  painstaking  genius. 
Time  and  space  were  necessary  to  him :  he  could 
not  contract  and  condense.  Of  the  elements  which 
the  novel  allowed  him  to  place  in  contrast,  but  from 
which  he  was  obliged  to  select  for  the  drama,  he  did 
not  succeed  in  making  evident  those  best  suited  to 
the  optics  of  the  stage,  and  which  must,  as  we  say, 
pass  over  to  the  audience.     He  was  admirably  en- 


The   Theatre.  451 

dowed  for  representing  human  life  in  the  intricacy 
of  its  inextricable  ramifications.  Although  a  mar- 
vellous analyst,  he  did  not  possess  the  theatrical 
gift,  which  consists  not  in  analyses  but  in  syntheses. 
Nature  can  only  enter  into  so  inflexible  a  form  by 
simplifying  data  and  rectifying  errors,  being  thus 
mutilated  and  falsified  in  order  the  more  surely  to 
seize  that  truth  which  is  necessarily  conventional 
and  fragmentary.  To  this  truth  the  dramatic  poet 
must  sacrifice  what  is  confused,  dispersed,  and  in- 
finitely circumstantial  in  nature.  If  Balzac  opened 
a  new  field  to  comedy,  it  is  as  a  novelist  and  not  as 
a  writer  of  comedies.  The  masters  of  modern 
comedy  were  not  long  in  adapting  to  the  particular 
conditions  of  their  art  that  Realism  which  had 
already  renewed  the  novel. 

Both  Herna7ii  and  la  Dame  atix  camelias  have 
made  dates  in  the  dramatic  history  of  our  century. 
The  poetic,  historic  drama  brought  into  vogue  by 
Her7iani  introduced  the  sentimental  exaltation  of 
the  Romantic  soul  into  the  theatre.  During  the 
second  half  of  the  century,  when  Romanticism  had 
exhausted  its  transports  and  been  consumed  by  its 
fervors,  historical  and  legendary  subjects  were  fol- 
lowed by  studies  of  contemporary  manners.  Lyri- 
cal outpourings  were  succeeded  by  keen  analyses, 
and,  in  place  of  the  plumed  heroes  of  the  middle 
ages,  there  were  the  bluntly  realistic  types  of  modern 
life.  The  former  pompous,  sonorous  alexandrines 
were  replaced  by  an  exact,  condensed  prose,  as 
clear  and  sharp  as  steel.  Alexandre  Dumas  Jils 
wrote    la    Dajize   aux    camelias   without   very    well 


452  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

knowing  how;  perhaps  "in  virtue  of  the  audacity 
and  good  fortune  of  youth."  This  work,  neverthe- 
less, marks  a  great  revolution  in  the  theatre, — a 
revolution  minus  proclamations,  theories,  and  noisy 
prefaces.  These  it  could  so  much  the  better  dis- 
pense with  since  it  was  thoroughly  in  conformity 
with  the  drifts  and  needs  of  the  contemporary  genera- 
tions. Voluntarily  and  without  the  bias  of  schools, 
Dumas  gave  dramatic  form  to  Realism,  for  the  rev- 
olution which  he  soon  brought  about  on  the  stage 
had  already  influenced  minds  and  manners. 

The  young  author  of  la  Dame  aux  camelias,  how- 
ever, met  with  lively  remonstrances.  Although 
Balzac  had  accustomed  the  public  to  the  crude 
aspects  of  reality,  the  peculiar  conditions  of  dra- 
matic art  are  such  that  what  the  novel  admits  without 
reservation  risks  shocking  prejudices  and  formali- 
ties when  introduced  on  the  stage.  With  admira- 
ble skill  Scribe  "had  patterned  from  contemporary 
society  more  than  four  hundred  works  whose  char- 
acters were  already  beginning  to  fade."  Dumas 
shaped  out  of  the  whole  cloth  substantial  comedies 
moulded  upon  life,  —  works  of  direct,  severe  obser- 
vation, which  represented  men  of  flesh  and  blood, 
"  real  from  head  to  foot."  They  were  not  vaude- 
villes without  consistence,  having  no  object  other 
than  to  divert  the  spectator  by  the  play  of  amusing 
silhouettes.  Dumas  recognized  no  conventions  but 
the  inherent  requirements  of  dramatic  art  and  the 
innate  refinements  of  human  nature.  He  relates  in 
one  of  his  prefaces  how  he  resolutely  and  indepen- 
dently set  out  in  search  of  the  truth,  after  having 


The  Theatre. 


453 


written  la  Dame  aux  camelias  in  eight  days,  less 
by  "  sanctified  inspiration  "  than  "  urged  by  the  need 
of  money."  Greek  and  Latin  antiquity  had  been  ex- 
hausted by  two  hundred  years  of  tragedy ;  national 
antiquity,  by  twenty  years  of  drama.  There  was 
nothing  left  but  modern  life,  which  had  scarcely  been 
touched  upon  by  Scribe's  sketches.  Dumas  aimed 
to  render  modern  life  with  absolute  frankness, 
at  the  risk  of  offending  the  affected  proprieties 
of  a  narrow  art  and  the  self-satisfied  susceptibili- 
ties of  a  superficial  morality.  "  No  writer,  particu- 
larly at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  has  had  more 
to  struggle  against  than  the  author,"  he  says.  La 
Dame  aux  camelias  was  prohibited  for  a  year,  and 
Diane  de  Lys  for  eighteen  months.  Le  Demi- 
Monde,  written  for  the  Theatre-Fran9ais,  was  styled 
"  impossible,  dangerous,  and  abounding  in .  mon- 
strosities." Not  only  had  the  young  author  to 
contend  with  general  disapprobation ;  even  the 
parterre  more  than  once  rose  in  anger  against  this 
unscrupulous  artist  and  shameless  moralist.  Du- 
mas made  light  of  prejudices  and  predilections, 
boldly  informing  his  spectators  just  what  they  did 
not  wish  to  be  told.  He  defies  that  convention- 
ality in  virtue  of  which  natural  sons  have  through- 
out all  time  mourned  the  misfortune  of  their  birth, 
who,  when  brought  for  the  first  time  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  father  to  whom  they  are  indebted  only 
for  that  misfortune,  throw  themselves  upon  the 
paternal  breast  in  transports  of  tenderness.  He 
makes  the  son  of  Madame  Aubray  marry  a  woman 
with  a  lover  without  first  having  had  her  lover  killed 


454  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

by  the  future  husband,  according  to  consecrated 
rules.  After  having  "  led  the  public  as  far  as  pos- 
sible in  the  fatal  deduction  of  a  passion  or  a  charac- 
ter," he  delights  in  "  finally  making  it  brusquely 
face  its  logical  result."  He  would  rather  offend 
his  public  by  a  blunt,  true  conclusion  than  win  it 
by  a  false  solution  "  unworthy  of  art  and  the  ac- 
quired truths."  In  fine,  where  tragedy  and  comedy 
had  either  glorified  or  deified  the  "  eternal  femi- 
nine," he  sacrilegiously  unveils  and  violates  the 
mysteries  of  the  "  Sex,"  exposing  to  ridicule  and 
contempt  the  conventional  ideal  of  woman.  De- 
spoiling her  of  all  prestige,  he  disrobes  her  before 
the  public  eye ;  treating  her  sometimes  as  a  child 
to  be  punished  with  the  rod,  sometimes  as  the 
"  guenon  de  Nod  "  to  be  destroyed. 

Courageous  enough  to  brave  public  disapproval, 
Dumas  was  also  sufficiently  skilful  and  energetic  to 
force  it  to  accept  his  audacities.  "  The  dramatic 
author  who  knows  man  as  did  Balzac,  and  the  the- 
atre as  well  as  Scribe,"  he  said,  "  would  be  the 
greatest  that  has  ever  lived."  If  Dumas  possesses 
a  knowledge  as  keen  as  Balzac  of  some  though  not 
of  all  characters,  he  is  Scribe's  equal  in  throw- 
ing a  subject  into  action,  in  evolving  all  its  develop- 
ments, as  well  as  in  his  appreciation  of  movement  and 
effect,  and  his  instinctive  talent  for  situation  and 
dialogue.  "  The  methods  of  other  arts  are  learned," 
he  says ;  "  in  theatrical  art  they  are  divined  or  in- 
herent. We  do  not  become  dramatic  authors ;  we 
are  so  at  first  or  never,  just  as  we  are  born  blond 
or  brunette  without  having  so  wished  it."    And  else- 


The  Theatre.  455 

where :  "  The  dramatic  author  may  in  time  acquire 
more  elevated  4;houghts,  develop  a  higher  philoso- 
phy; but  his  first  comedies  are  just  as  well,  and  often 
more  ably,  constructed."  La  Dame  aux  camelias 
showed  at  once  that  Dumas  was  master  of  his  art. 
He  has  indicated  the  method  first  applied  by  him, 
and  the  one  he  continued  to  employ:  it  consists  in 
writing  as  if  his  characters  were  living  beings.  The 
theatrical  gift  is  so  natural  to  him  that  things  first 
present  themselves  from  the  dramatic  point  of  view. 
Hence,  in  order  to  compose  a  drama,  he  has  only 
to  convey  these  spontaneous  images  to  the  stage 
without  the  work  of  transposition. 

Logic,  "that  which  governs  and  commands,"  is 
the  most  indispensable  of  all  the  qualities  necessary 
to  the  drama.  The  theatre  supplies  imagination  in 
the  person  of  interpreters,  in  its  decorations  and 
accessories ;  consequently  dramatic  writers  can  very 
well  dispense  with  it. 

Neither  does  invention  concern  them ;  for  a  dram- 
atist's duty  is  not  to  invent  what  does  not  exist, 
but  to  reproduce,  to  "  restore  "  what  exists  by  adapt- 
ing what  he  has  seen  and  felt  to  the  conditions 
of  his  art.  In  this  we  recognize  the  fundamental 
maxim  of  Realism,  which  was  introduced  on  the 
stage  by  Dumas  the  first.  Particularly  in  the  first 
half  of  his  career  has  the  painter  of  the  Demi- 
Monde,  the  author  of  la  Dame  aux  camelias,  Diane 
de  Lys,  le  Pere  prodigue,  le  Fils  naturel,  TAmi 
des  femmes,  represented  episodes  from  his  life,  situa- 
tions he  has  witnessed,  people  he  has  known,  and 
milieux  he  has  personally  studied.     Invention  and 


456  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

imagination  being  useless  on  the  stage,  logic  is  the 
quality  which  Dumas  esteems  above  all  others,  and 
that  which  he  possesses  in  the  highest  degree.     Al- 
though a  Realist  in  the  selection  of  his  subjects  as 
well  as  in  his  freedom  of  treatment,  he  makes  no 
concessions  to  Realism  in  what  pertains  to  dramatic 
composition.     The  theorists  of  certain  "  Naturalist " 
theatres  censure  him  for  having  deformed  reality  by 
confining  it  within  artificial  limits,  for  having  built 
up  his  works  like   theorems,   for  having  mounted 
characters  that  walk,  act,  and  speak  like  automata, 
as  if  worked  by  springs.     These  criticisms  do  not 
touch  him ;  he  knows  his  art  better  than  any  one,  — 
its  resources  as  well  as  its  limits  and  demands.     He 
knows  that  a  dramatic  work  cannot  be  a  copy  of 
reality;  that  it  represents  life  "  relatively;  "  that  what 
is  true  upon  the  stage  is  in  accord  either  with  its 
primordial  conventions  or  with  the  perspective  and 
sonority  peculiar  to  the  theatre.    If  its  truths  cannot 
be  absolute,  its  logic  must  be  rigid.     No  dramatic 
author  has  ever  been  a  more  relentless  logician  than 
Dumas.     Why  does  he  advise  us  never  to  begin  to 
write  a  drama  until  we  have  found  its  last  scene, 
its   movement,   and    its    final    word }      Because  he 
considers  that  its  conclusion  should  be  the  point 
towards  which  the  author  should  direct  the  develop- 
ment of  his  action.     Even  at  the  outset  he  must 
have  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  destination,  and  pro- 
ceed   with    inflexible    rectitude,   permitting   neither 
hesitation  nor  digression.     His  logic  has  been  often 
called    brutal    in  its  mathematical    precision.      He 
must  not  be  expected  to  modify  a  conclusion.     His 


The  Theatre.  457 

dramas  are  a  "  mathematical  progression  multiplied 
scene  by  scene,  event  by  event,  act  by  act,"  until 
their  conclusion  is  reached,  —  a  "  product "  both  fatal 
and  inexorable.  To  logic,  his  master  faculty  and 
that  whence  all  others  proceed,  belong  "  the  talent 
of  continually  placing  in  evidence  those  aspects  of 
things  and  beings  from  which  he  draws  his  conclu- 
sions," as  well  as  "  dexterity  in  arrangement "  and 
the  "  science  of  counterparts."  To  this  faculty  must 
also  be  attributed  the  judgment  with  which  he  dis- 
tributes light  and  shade,  disposes  opposing  elements, 
and  equalizes  effects.  Nor  must  we  overlook  the 
rapid  movement  which  urges  his  works  on  towards 
their  final  crises,  his  animated  manner  of  entering 
at  once  into  the  spirit  of  things,  his  readiness  in 
throwing  overboard  all  useless  baggage,  his  skill  in 
presenting  only  the  essence  of  action,  and  pitilessly 
cutting  out  all  that  is  not  indispensable  to  the 
understanding  of  a  keen,  impatient  audience,  —  also 
due  to  this  faculty.  He  certainly  handles  logic  with 
masterly  command  and  marvellous  knowledge  of 
the  theatre  and  the  public  he  addresses.  Even  in 
his  rapidity  and  violences,  no  one  has  understood 
better  than  Dumas  the  secret  of  screening  difficul- 
ties, refuting  objections  in  advance,  arousing  the 
expectation  and  imperative  desire  for  the  most 
hazardous  scenes,  —  in  a  word,  that  consummate 
art  of  "  preparation "  without  which  his  sharp- 
edged,  despotic  rationalism  would  so  often  have 
revolted  his  spectators. 

Dumas'  language  is  in  perfect  accord  with  what 
is  concise  and  incisive  in  his  dramatic  system.     He 


45 8  Literary  Moveinent  in  France. 

taxes  himself  with  never  having  written  pure  French, 
recalhng  that  MoHere  did  not  write  it  purely.  Care- 
lessness, imperfections,  and  "barbarisms"  are  unper- 
ceived  by  the  public,  provided  the  form  is  clear, 
salient,  vigorous,  and  sonorous.  What  matters  it 
if  Dumas'  style  does  not  always  observe  academical 
rules;  what  if  irregularities  and  faults  of  grammar 
are  not  uncommon  with  him }  His  is  a  living  lan- 
guage ;  and  this  quality  alone  can  not  only  dispense 
with  all  those  which  it  does  not  include,  but  also 
redeem  that  license  which  never  detracts,  but  rather 
conspires  in  its  favor.  Dumas'  every  phrase  bears 
its  message ;  and  as  there  are  no  idle  words  in  his 
works,  so  none  are  lost.  It  is  a  style  all  muscles 
and  nerves;  it  is  action  itself.  It  carves  out  his 
ideas,  giving  them  a  clear,  bold  outline.  Though 
often  wanting  in  literary  purity  and  grammatical 
accuracy,  it  certainly  always  possesses  dramatic 
relief. 

To  Dumas  the  theatre  is  essentially  a  school. 
He  tells  us  how  he  leaned  in  his  youth  over  the 
great  crucible,  Paris,  in  order  to  study  "  in  that 
medley  of  the  human  being  of  special  habits  and 
laws  "  those  moral  problems  which  he  believed  every 
dramatic  author  should  attempt  to  solve.  Being 
born  a  moralist  as  well  as  a  dramatist,  he  did  not 
consider  that  the  theatre's  sole  object  was  to  amuse 
the  idle.  He  thought  that  the  "  art  that  had  pro- 
duced Poly  cue  te,  AtJialic,  Tariic/e,  and  Figaro  was 
primarily  a  civilizing  art,  incalculable  in  its  bearing." 
He  wished  to  found  this  art  upon  truth,  having 
morality  for  its  aim.     In  the  cynical  painter  of  con- 


The  Theatre.  459 

temporary  manners,  there  was  something  of  the 
savior  of  souls.  Dumas  sent  le  Demi-Monde,  re- 
fused by  the  Comedie  Fran9aise  "  on  account  of  its 
indecency,"  in  competition  for  the  prize  offered  by 
Leon  Faucher  at  the  time  of  his  debut  for  a  useful 
comedy  of  manners.  La  Dame  aux  canielias  is, 
perhaps,  the  only  one  of  his  dramas  which  does  not 
attempt  to  demonstrate  a  moral  truth.  He  interests 
himself  in  problems  of  conscience,  and  particularly 
in  those  that  concern  society  as  a  whole.  From 
le  Fils  naturel  he  becomes  engrossed  in  the  devel- 
opment of  social  theories.  To  portray  characters, 
idiosyncrasies,  and  passions  is  not  enough  for  him. 
He  wishes  to  leave  his  spectators  "  something  to 
think  about,"  to  force  them  to  listen  to  "  things  that 
ought  to  be  said."  At  the  risk  of  offending  the 
fanatics  of  art  for  art's  sake,  he  founds  the  "  theatre 
utile  "  with  "  plus-value  of  mankind  "  for  its  object. 
He  is  not  content  with  being  a  moralist;  he  rises 
up  before  us  like  a  prophet. 

Certainly,  no  one  will  question  a  dramatic  author's 
right  to  interpret  the  highest  questions  of  social 
morality.  In  judging  a  theatrical  work,  however, 
we  do  not  consider  it  from  the  moral,  but  rather 
from  the  artistic  point  of  view.  Its  merit  consists 
in  what  it  portrays,  and  not  in  what  it  purposes  to 
teach  us.  Moliere,  whose  name  Alexandre  Dumas 
loved  to  use,  did  not  aim  at  the  "plus-value  of 
mankind ;  "  and  although  his  Femmes  savantes  de- 
velops ideas  in  reality  quite  ordinary,  it  is  never- 
theless considered  one  of  his  masterpieces.  In  fact, 
almost  all  Dumas'  comedies   unfold  a  proposition, 


460  Literary  Moveme7it  hi  France. 

almost  all  contain  reasoning  individuals  whose  ha- 
rangues give  free  vent  to  his  didactic,  sermonizing 
mania.  Most  of  them,  it  is  true,  present  his  favorite 
ideas  in  a  concrete,  impassioned,  dramatic  form. 
More  and  more  absorbed  by  social  reform,  he  at 
length  loses  himself  completely  in  hollow,  declama- 
tory metaphysics.  Instead  of  considering  and  ren- 
dering nature  as  it  is,  he  attempts  to  incarnate  his 
own  ideas  in  lifeless  types.  He  no  longer  represents 
the  individual,  but  the  human  creature.  In  con- 
junction with  the  visionary's  illuminations,  his 
geometrical  logic  results  in  the  conception  of 
emblematical  characters  whose  activity  is  regulated 
by  preconceived  theories.  They  are  not  real  living 
beings,  but  entities.  \rv  la  Fem^ne  de  Claude,  Claude 
is  Man,  and  Cesarine,  the  Beast.  L' Etrangere,  con- 
sidered an  "excellent  melodrama  and  a  detestable 
comedy  "  by  a  well-known  critic,  is  neither  a  comedy 
nor  a  melodrama,  but  a  sort  of  mythical  poem. 
Dumas  finally  discovers  that  it  will  soon  be  impos- 
sible for  him  to  adapt  his  "  already  troublesome 
abstractions  "  to  the  theatre ;  and  although  he  did 
not  retire  as  early  as  he  announced,  his  last  dramas 
have,  at  least,  reacted  against  his  preference  for 
"complete  incarnations."  Laying  aside  both  sym- 
bols and  theses  in  his  most  recent  work,  Francillon, 
he  confines  himself  to  the  development  of  real  char- 
acters through  action  commanding  our  interest. 

Love  is  the  inspiration  of  Dumas'  theatre.  Seek- 
ing the  "  point  towards  which  he  might  turn  his 
faculty  of  observation  to  the  best  effect,"  he  at  once 
found  it  in   love.     From  la  Dame  aux  cajnelias  to 


The  Theatre.  461 

Francillon,  it  is  the  constant  subject  of  his  thought. 
There  is  nothing  ideal  in  Dumas'  conception  of 
love.  As  a  physiologist,  he  analyzes  it;  as  a 
moralist,  he  studies  its  social  effects.  Despoil- 
ing it  of  all  Romantic  glamour,  he  represents 
it  as  a  necessity,  not  a  sentiment.  He  does  not 
deny  the  existence  of  "  true  love,"  being  even  ready 
to  honor  it  as  the  equal  of  genius  and  virtue ;  but 
he  believes  it  as  rare  as  real  genius  and  virtue.  In 
fact,  he  has  not  represented  it  at  all.  What  he  has 
pictured  is  love  as  found  in  the  society  about  him, 
—  a  love  in  reality  nothing  more  than  a  physical 
appetite  or  curiosity  of  the  senses,  a  love  which 
clothes  brutality  with  superficial  gallantry  and  dis- 
guises bestiality  beneath  hypocritical  stratagem. 
This  love  Dumas  portrays  with  the  cynicism  of  a 
physician;  and,  though  fastidious  criticism  cry  out 
against  immorality,  he  nevertheless  accomplishes 
his  moralist's  duty,  "removing  veils  from  things 
and  people  alike."  He  has  been  condemned  for  not 
loving  woman;  yet  it  is  in  her  interest  that  he 
wishes  to  inspire  her  with  disgust  for  sin,  when  he 
makes  Lebonnard  say  to  her,  "  To  what  end  ?  " 
and  puts,  "  This,  then,  is  love ! "  in  the  mouth  of 
Jane  de  Simerose. 

Prostitution  is  the  "monster"  against  which 
Dumas  has  directed  his  blows.  La  Dame  aux  cafne- 
lias  was  written  when  he  was  twenty-one  years  of 
age.  To  reinstate  the  courtesan  was,  however,  so 
far  from  his  purpose  that  he  closed  with  the  words, 
"  The  history  of  Marguerite  is  an  exception."  War 
against  love  without  marriage  might  be  said  to  be 


462  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

the  device  of  his  theatre.  The  higher  authority  of 
the  husband  is  brought  out  in  Diane  de  Lys,  his 
second  work.  The  drama  we  at  first  thought  con- 
secrated  to  the  glorification  of  adultery  ends  with 
a  pistol-shot  which  shows  its  true  signification. 
Though  the  count  is  not  blameless  in  his  relations 
with  Diane,  he  confesses,  and  only  asks  to  repair 
his  wrongs.  He  points  out  the  disgrace  and  disillu- 
sion which  attend  irregular  liaisons,  and  informs 
the  man  she  loves  that  he  will  kill  him  if  he  finds 
him  again  in  her  presence.  When  this  finally 
occurs,  he  refuses  to  accept  a  duel,  and  coldly  ac- 
complishes an  act  of  justice  by  striking  him  dead  at 
his  feet.  Whether  husband  or  wife,  the  one  who 
remains  faithful  to  duty  always  plays  the  fine  role 
with  Dumas.  If  sometimes  the  wife,  as  in  la  Prin- 
cesse  Georges  and  in  Francillon,  it  is  more  often  the 
husband.  Although  la  Princesse  Georges  and  espe- 
cially Francillon,  assert  absolute  equality  in  the 
duties  which  marriage  imposes  upon  husband  and 
wife,  Dumas,  viewing  adultery  as  a  legislator,  pre- 
fers to  represent  the  combat  in  the  woman  where 
its  social  consequences  are  otherwise  serious.  In 
la  Princesse  Georges  Severine  pardons  the  prince ; 
in  Francillon,  the  husband  who  has  sinned  finally 
discovers  that  his  wife  is  still  pure;  and  if,  in 
I'Etrangere,  Clarkson  kills  the  duke,  Septmonts,  we 
have  been  informed,  was  nothing  but  a  vibrion 
in   human  form. 

Dumas  has  virtuous  and  courageous  heroines, 
but  the  general  idea  dominating  and  giving  special 
significance  to  his   plays  is  the  superiority  of  man 


The  Theatre.  463 

over  woman.  From  Monsieur  de  Ryons,  his  favorite 
characters,  and  those  in  which  the  author  can  be 
recognized,  scorn  the  Sex  with  mild  condescension, 
sometimes  profiting  by  its  weaknesses,  sometimes 
throwing  hght  upon  its  artifices,  sometimes  defying 
its  seductions  with  cold,  lashing  irony.  Monsieur 
de  Ryons  is  a  physiologist,  albeit  an  indulgent,  in- 
telligent physiologist.  From  VAmi  des  femmes  to 
V Etrangere,  as  Dumas  advances  in  life,  his  concep- 
tion of  morality  becomes  more  satirical  and  aggres- 
sive. To  crudity  he  unites  cruelty ;  he  performs 
"executions."  At  the  same  time  illuminism  invades 
his  clinic  of  love.  The  mystical  formulas,  of  which 
his  plays  are  the  exposition,  become  more  evident. 
He  glorifies  the  "  man  who  knows,"  and  prostrates 
woman,  "  who  is  but  a  tool,"  at  the  feet  of  man,  who 
is  "  God's  instrument."  After  having  exhibited  the 
courtesans  of  interloping  social  circles  and  those  of 
the  great  world,  he  finally  rises  to  his  conception  of 
the  "  Beast."  This  apocalyptical  Beast,  clothed  in 
purple  and  scarlet,  adorned  with  gold,  pearls,  and  all 
precious  stones,  resembles  a  leopard  having  the  feet 
of  a  bear,  a  lion's  jaw,  and  the  strength  of  a  dragon. 
This  fawning,  bellowing  Beast,  with  its  seven  half- 
open  mouths  glowing  like  coals  of  fire,  is  woman  as 
he  has  seen  and  known  her,  —  the  woman  of  the 
half-world  and  the  great  world,  the  woman  of  all  so- 
cieties, as  presented  by  him  on  the  stage,  —  Suzanne 
d'Ange,  Albertine  de  Laborde,  Iza,  Madame  de 
Terremonde,  finally  Cesarine.  For  himself  he  has 
no  fear,  for  she  has  no  power  over  the  "  man  who 
knows ; "  but  he  distrusts  her  in  marriage,  fearing 


464  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

her  influence  upon  social  hygiene.  He  has  Claude 
put  her  to  death,  and,  having  killed  her,  return  to 
work,  leading  back  Antonin. 

Considered  in  itself,  the  work  of  Emile  Augier  is 
of  no  less  significance  than  that  of  Dumas.  Per- 
haps, as  his  surer  judgment  and  language  and  more 
human  art  have  already  secured  him  a  calmer,  more 
certain,  and  more  equal  admiration,  they  will  also  in- 
sure him  a  future  less  subject  to  relapses,  because  of 
its  broader  and  firmer  foundation.  Notwithstanding 
this,  he  does  not  hold  so  important  a  place  as  the 
author  of  la  Dame  aux  came  lias  in  the  history  of 
the  literary  movement  of  our  times.  Alexandre 
Dumas  was  the  progenitor  of  the  contemporary 
theatre.  His  first  works  renewed  the  drama,  com- 
pletely modifying  both  its  form  and  matter  by  bring- 
ing it  back  to  the  direct  observation  of  life. 
Vivacity  of  movement,  rapidity  of  dialogue,  and 
simplicity  of  treatment  —  its  characteristic  traits 
since  the  middle  of  the  century  —  can  all  be  traced 
to  him.  When  Dumas  appeared,  Augier,  who  had 
preceded  him  by  eight  years,  had  already  been  ap- 
plauded for  the  delicacy  of  his  youthful  talent,  not 
without  a  certain  virile  candor.  He  had  replaced 
the  vaudeville  by  true  comedy,  substituting  for  in- 
trigues passions  and  characters,  faithfully  observed 
and  sincerely  rendered  in  their  manners  and  habits 
of  life.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Gabrielle  was 
played  more  than  two  years  before  la  Dame  aux 
camelias.  Dumas  pays  tribute  to  his  elder  by 
recognizing   his  just   part   in   the   regeneration  of 


The  Theatre.  465 

dramatic  art.  "  A  keen,  loyal,  vigorous  mind  ap- 
peared," he  said.  "  Gabrielle,  with  its  simple,  touch- 
ing action,  its  noble,  beautiful  language,  was  the 
first  revolt  against  a  now  antiquated  conventional 
theatre "  having  Scribe  for  its  hireling  builder. 
Gabrielle,  however,  does  not  possess  that  decisive 
quality  of  originality  for  which  la  Dame  aux 
camelias  merits  the  honor  of  having  brought  about 
the  modern  drama.  In  its  substance  we  neither 
find  that  bold  Realistic  manner  of  treatment,  nor  in 
its  style  that  swiftness  of  movement,  vigor  of  touch, 
and  sharpness  of  relief  which  constitute  la  Dame  aux 
camelias  the  first  type  of  a  new  art.  Only  in  a 
system  invented  by  Dumas  did  Emile  Augier  em- 
ploy in  all  their  force  those  faculties  of  observation 
and  delineation  which  were  to  be  so  brilliantly  dis- 
played in  le  Gendre  de  Monsieur  Poirier  and  le 
Mariage  dOlympe.  He  might  possibly  have  discov- 
ered for  himself  this  new  art  towards  which  he  was 
already  directing  his  steps,  and,  perhaps,  so  soon 
and  so  thoroughly  appropriated  its  conception  only 
because  it  responded  to  his  own  instincts.  His 
temperament,  however,  was  not  revolutionary;  had 
he  inaugurated  a  dramatic  revolution  alone,  it 
would  doubtless  not  have  been  by  a  single  bold 
stroke,  but  little  by  little,  step  by  step,  and  with 
measured,  deliberate  courage.  It  is  certain  that 
Augier  received  his  impulse  from  another;  he  pro- 
duced a  historical  drama  in  verse  in  February,  1852, 
the  same  month  that  la  Dame  aux  camelias  appeared, 
and  Philiberte  was  played  the  same  season  as  Diane 
de  Lys. 

30 


466  Lite7'ary  Movement  in  France. 

Emile  Augier's  career  is  divided  into  two  periods 
of  quite  unequal  extent.  He  began  as  the  "  Musset 
of  Ponsard ;  "  in  other  words,  he  started  out  by 
attempting  to  relax  and  enliven  the  wisdom  of  the 
"  restorer  of  tragedy  "  by  imparting  to  it  something 
of  the  airy  grace  which  Alfred  de  Musset  brought  to 
the  stage.  After  la  Cigu'e,  and  with  r Homme  de 
bien,  he  enters  upon  the  study  of  contemporary 
manners  and  the  analysis  of  characters;  but  this 
work  is  patterned  upon  traditional  models,  and  con- 
tains nothing  that  announces  a  new  comedy.  In 
r Aventuriere,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Italy 
during  the  sixteenth  century,  he  displays  a  vigor  and 
spirit  to  be  found  neither  in  V Homme  de  bie^t  nor 
even  in  la  Cigu'e.  Following  Gabrielle,  appeared  le 
Joueur  de  flute,  a  work  in  the  same  style  as  la  Cigu'e, 
Diane,  a  historical  drama,  and  Philiberte,  a  fantasy 
of  exquisite  grace  and  freshness,  which  in  its 
eighteenth-century  setting  is  perhaps  his  most 
pleasing  work,  though  not  a  serious  study  of 
manners.  So  far  the  poet  had  attempted  all  styles, 
and,  even  after  having  found  his  true  sphere,  almost 
at  once  laid  it  aside  for  others.  During  this  period 
he  belongs  to  what  is  now  called  the  school  of  good 
sense.  Having  reconquered  possession  of  the 
theatre  with  Lucrece,  the  Classical  party  opposes 
its  sober,  self-poised  talent,  ripened  by  healthy  tradi- 
tions, to  the  exaggerations  and  monstrosities  of 
Romanticism.  Frank,  clear,  and  exact  in  its  verse, 
it  is  exempt  from  all  redundance  and  confusion. 
Even  in  its  archaisms  it  recalls  sometimes  Corneille, 
sometimes  Moliere.  At  this  staofe  of  his  career 
Emile  Augier  is  the  Eliacin  of  Classicism. 


The   Theatre.  467 

But  it  was  not  the  Classicists  who  really  profited 
by  the  fall  of  Romanticism.  While  they  dallied 
with  superannuated  conventions,  the  intellectual 
movement  of  the  age  brought  about  a  new  school 
with  the  loyal,  faithful  reproduction  of  reality  for  its 
only  rule.  With  Dumas  fits.  Realism  transformed 
dramatic  art.  Augier  henceforth  confines  himself 
to  the  comedy  of  manners,  first  attempted  in 
r Homme  de  bien  and  Gabrielle,  and  to  which  he 
now  brings  a  vigor  and  freedom  so  far  unknown  to 
him.  From  le  Gendre  de  Monsieur  Poirier  to 
Fourchambault,  all  his  works  contain  subjects  drawn 
from  contemporary  society.  In  renouncing  light 
comedy,  the  historical  drama,  and  neo-Greek  imi- 
tations, he  also  casts  off  poetical  form,  heretofore 
solely  employed.  With  the  exception  of  la  Jeunesse 
and  Paul  Forestier,  from  this  time  forth  he  writes 
only  in  prose.  He  certainly  does  not  profess  Alex- 
andre Dumas'  scorn  for  the  "  rhymed  form,"  but  he 
considers  that,  while  verse  was  adapted  to  the  drama, 
which  was  sometimes  epic,  sometimes  lyrical  in 
character,  and  to  the  whims  and  jests  of  the  comic 
muse,  prose,  always  sincere,  substantial,  and  moulded 
upon  reality,  is  the  only  proper  language  for  the 
comedy  of  contemporary  manners. 

Like  Dumas,  Augier  believed  in  the  moral  influ- 
ence of  the  theatre.  Having  in  mind  the  experi- 
ments by  which  "  Flourens  demonstrated  that  the 
bones  are  ceaselessly  renewed  by  the  action  of  a 
coloring  aliment,"  he  significantly  called  literature 
the  "  coloring  aliment  of  the  public  mind,"  and  the 
theatre  the  "  most  active,  if  not  the  most  nutritive, 


468  Literary  Movement  in  Frartce. 

part  of  literature."  Being  in  touch  with  the  masses, 
the  theatre  has  this  advantage  over  other  forms  of 
literature,  —  that  its  "  teachings  reach  their  objec- 
tive point  directly  and  violently."  It  "guides  the 
confused  observation  of  the  greatest  number  of  peo- 
ple," and  is  also  the  "  most  easily  grasped  as  well  as 
the  most  penetrating  form  of  thought." 

A  political  pamphlet  on  universal  suffrage,  a  few 
short  prefaces,  his  discourse  on  the  event  of  his 
reception  into  the  French  Academy,  if  we  except 
his  volume,  Parietaires,  comprise  all  that  Augier 
has  written  beyond  his  comedies.  As  a  moralist, 
Augier  has  never  been  misled  by  chimeras.  In  his 
clear,  well-balanced  mind  there  is  no  place  for  daring 
theories,  brilliant  paradoxes,  or  vapory  hallucinations. 
He  is  not  carried  away  by  Utopias ;  if  he  often  soars 
high,  it  is  without  losing  sight  of  the  solid  ground 
of  reality.  Increasingly  fascinated  by  physiology 
and  mysticism,  Dumas  ends  by  preaching  Christian 
virtue  after  the  manner  of  a  medical  student,  while 
Augier  limits  himself  to  an  honest  man's  code. 
With  a  sturdy  simplicity  opposed  to  all  declamation, 
whether  fault  of  taste  or  tact,  he  preserves  from  all 
inconstancy  and  relapses  a  robust  and  refined 
morality,  which  unites  the  solidity  of  bourgeois 
integrity  with  what  is  most  elevated  in  the  aristo- 
cratic  conception  of  honor. 

He  appreciates  the  fact  that  the  "  theatre  has  never 
redeemed  any  one  ;  "  for  its  "  object  is  not  to  reclaim 
any  one  person,  but  the  whole  world."  He  has  not 
ceased  to  keep  this  purpose  in  view.  He  is  spar- 
ing of  monologues ;  neither  advertises  by  theses,  nor 


The  Theatre.  469 

substitutes  symbolical  abstractions  for  the  living 
people  of  the  real  world.  In  avoiding  pedantism  and 
abstractions,  he  has  not,  on  the  other  hand,  consid- 
ered comedy  as  a  simple  diversion.  He  has  taken 
the  castigat  ridendo  mores  quite  seriously,  and,  with- 
out assuming  the  role  of  a  reformer  or  apostle,  has 
aimed  to  correct  the  public  through  the  efficacy  of 
laughter. 

Augier's  field  is  more  extended  than  that  of 
Dumas.  However,  love  and  the  marriage  relations 
hold  a  very  considerable  place  in  his  works.  Even 
before  Dumas  had  produced  anything  whatever, 
Gabrielle  had  given  serious  consideration  to  violated 
duties  in  which  Scribe  had  seen  only  the  facetious. 
Somewhat  later  le  Mariage  d  Olympe  introduced 
upon  the  stage  the  courtesan  transformed  into  a 
countess,  yet  incapable  of  leading  an  honest  life, 
where  she  smothers  in  a  stifling  atmosphere,  desir- 
ing only  to  return  to  the  mire  which  gives  her  nos- 
talgia. Les  Liomtes  pauvres  reveals  prostitution 
among  the  bourgeois,  and  Madame  Caverlet  dedi- 
cates what  is  most  vigorous  and  effective  in  dra- 
matic art  to  the  divorce  question.  Whereas  Dumas 
employs  his  moralist's  solicitude  as  well  as  his  fac- 
ulty of  observation  only  in  the  relations  of  the  sexes, 
Augier  interests  himself  in  all  the  questions  that 
concern  society.  Works  like  le  Gendre  de  Mon- 
sieur  Poirier,  les  Effrontes,  le  Fils  de  Giboyer  and 
la  Contagion  have  a  more  general  signification  than 
fAmi  des  femmes  or  la  Princesse  Georges.  They 
represent  more  extended  circles,  are  addressed  to  a 
larger  public,  and  are  less  confined  in   their  obser- 


470  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

vation  of  life.  Augier  portrays  the  conflict  of  honor 
and  money  as  found  in  its  many  diverse  aspects, 
showing  scruples  of  conscience  at  variance  with  the 
temptations  of  fortune.  He  has  given  us  the  rich 
manufacturer,  in  whom  wealth  breeds  ambition,  and 
who,  because  he  has  known  how  to  steer  his  own 
bark,  believes  himself  capable  of  placing  his  hand 
to  the  helm  of  State.  He  has  given  us  the  ruined 
gentleman,  who  sells  his  name  to  the  first  bourgeois 
rich  enough  to  support  his  idleness,  and  satisfy 
his  elegant  tastes  and  finical  honor  at  his  own 
expense.  He  has  given  us  the  brewer  who  lights 
upon  his  feet  after  a  perilous  jump,  and,  braving 
his  condemnation  like  a  strong  man  instead  of 
meekly  swallowing  it,  pays  the  price  of  his  au- 
dacity; doubling  the  power  of  money  by  that  of 
the  press,  he  finally  succeeds  in  forcing  himself 
upon  a  society  which  tacitly  consents  to  accept 
people  as  they  appear,  looking  through  windows 
only  when  they  are  broken.  To  these  must  be 
added  the  penniless  adventurer  of  high  life,  who, 
envied  for  his  horses  and  mistresses  and  admired 
for  his  swagger,  finds  the  means  of  living  in 
Parisian  clubs  and  salons  as  if  he  possessed  an  in- 
come of  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  the  bohemian 
of  letters  ready  to  empty  his  poisoned  inkstand 
upon  any  one  whomsoever ;  the  country  notary,  ma- 
lignant, tenacious,  covetous,  at  once  practical  and 
prndho7mnesque,  oblique,  and  nai'f,  who  in  all  candor 
attests  to  his  respect  for  the  law  by  twisting  it.  .  .  . 
Poirier,  the  Marquis  de  Presles,  Vernouillet, 
d'Estrigaut,    Giboyer,    Maitre    Guerin,    and    many 


The  Theatre.  471 

others  of  his  creations  invest  with  characteristic 
physiognomies  the  most  original  figures  to  be  found 
by  the  moralist.  Emile  Augier  has  dared  to  intro- 
duce upon  the  stage,  and  make  his  characters  dis- 
cuss, the  most  important  interests  and  the  most 
serious  problems  relating  to  the  present  or  future 
of  a  society  in  which  clash  so  many  heterogeneous 
elements  and  opinions.  He  derides  aristocracy  of 
birth,  both  clerical  and  legitimist,  alike  submerged 
by  the  current  it  vainly  attempts  to  arrest.  He 
derides  aristocracy  of  wealth,  —  both  its  doubtful 
financiers,  who  begin  to  be  honest  when  enriched  by 
their  dishonesty,  and  divinely  constituted  bourgeois, 
who  have  held  the  Revolution  in  horror  since 
they  have  been  able  to  gain  nothing  thereby.  To 
these  he  opposes  the  democratic  society  which 
is  the  outgrowth  of  '89,  —  not  an  equalizing  level, 
but  a  hierarchy  with  the  formula :  To  each  accord- 
ing to  his  works,  that  aristocracy  of  birth  and  wealth 
be  replaced  by  personal  merit.  Les  Effrontes  and 
le  Fils  de  Giboyer  are  comedies  without  parallel  in 
our  contemporary  theatre.  The  ideas  developed  in 
them  are  expressed  with  vigor  and  clearness,  being 
incorporated  in  individuals  and  fixed  in  our  mind 
as  types  for  all  time,  after  having  existed  on  the 
stage  as  real  people. 

A  poet  as  well  as  a  moralist,  Augier's  chief  qual- 
ity is  good  sense,  —  not  the  timid,  narrow  good 
sense  to  which  the  neo-Classicists  attempted  to 
reduce  art,  but  a  robust  sanity,  nothing  less  than  the 
equilibrium  of  all  the  faculties.  All  has,  however, 
not  been  said  in   commending  his    wisdom.      We 


472  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

shall  not,  of  course,  find  in  Augier  tlie  eclat,  ardor, 
and  impetuous  spirit  which  gave  Alexandre  Dumas 
a  more  stirring  and  apparent  originality ;  yet  the 
author  of  works  so  forcible  in  their  moderation 
exercises  the  potent  influence  of  a  solid,  vigorous 
talent  in  full  self-possession.  Like  Dumas,  he  has 
the  two  fundamental  qualifications  for  the  drama,  — 
logic  and  movement;  but  his  logic  is  less  rigid, 
and  his  movement  more  tranquil.  His  plays  de- 
velop with  a  regularity  uninterrupted  by  coups  de 
theatre.  They  unite  in  a  just  measure  what  is  suf- 
ficiently vivid  in  action  not  to  permit  the  dramatic 
interest  to  relax,  with  ample  space  for  the  develop- 
ment of  characters.  At  the  same  time  they  pos- 
sess greater  freedom  of  composition,  a  broader 
and  easier  manner  of  treatment.  The  hand  of  the 
author  is  less  evident,  and  reality  is  not  so  strictly 
submitted  to  the  demands  of  theatrical  art.  Augier's 
observation  is  keen,  but  without  severity,  because 
we  feel  his  generous  sympathy  for  human  nature. 
There  is  something  cordial  even  in  his  satire.  His 
esprit  may  often  lack  sudden  sallies  and  the  charm  of 
the  fantastic,  yet  how  spirited  we  find  certain  scenes 
of  t Aventuri^re,  le  Mariage  cCOly77ipe,  la  Contagion 
and  les  Effrontes  I  It  is  frank,  vivid,  clear,  and,  above 
all,  possesses  those  virtues,  essential  to  the  dramatic 
author,  of  being  always  found  in  situations,  and  of 
summing  up  vividly  the  import  of  a  scene  and  add- 
ing some  feature  to  the  portrayal  of  a  character. 
His  simple,  forcible  language,  at  once  precise  and 
picturesque,  sober  and  highly  colored,  follows  in  the 
path   of  French   tradition.     It  is  a  style  in  which  a 


The  Theatre.  473 

Gallic  flavor  is  allied  to  Parisian  invention.  What 
contemporary  reality  enters  into  fimile  Augier's 
works  should  not  prevent  us  from  recognizing  their 
"  Classical  "  qualities,  —  not  confining  ourselves  here 
to  the  scholastic  signification  of  the  word  as  applied 
to  the  author  of  Tartufe  and  tAvare,  before  being 
applied  to  that  of  la  Bourse  and  V Honneur  et 
V  Argent. 

As  Augier  proceeds  directly  from  Moliere,  so 
Sardou's  first  master  was  Eugene  Scribe.  Sardou, 
however,  has  employed  his  talent  in  many  diverse 
styles ;  not  to  speak  of  his  Patrie,  one  of  our  best 
contemporary  dramas,  certain  of  his  comedies  of 
manners  fall  little  short  of  masterpieces,  were  their 
conception  more  vigorous  and  their  execution  better 
sustained. 

Sardou  places  silhouettes,  rather  than  types,  upon 
the  stage.  He  neglects  features  of  general  signifi- 
cance in  favor  of  curious  and  amusing  details  which 
procure  his  works  immediate  success  by  compromis- 
ing that  of  the  future.  He  often  disintegrates  a 
character  by  incorporating  it  in  three  or  four  per- 
sons, in  each  of  which  we  find  one  of  its  aspects ; 
but  as  the  peculiarities  to  which  he  directs  his 
analysis  are  too  trifling  to  hold  our  attention,  he  is 
naturally  tempted  to  exaggerate  them,  thus  reducing 
them  to  caricatures,  doubtless  diverting,  though 
without  durable  interest.  His  works  denote  an  in- 
comparable dexterity  of  composition,  but  we  almost 
always  detect  their  artificiality.  His  most  "  seri- 
ous "  plays  lack  unity,  because  they  so  often  bring 


474  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

the  drama  and  comedy  into  too  close  contact,  and 
because  the  action  of  the  drama  has  no  connec- 
tion with  the  situations  represented  by  the  com- 
edy. The  severe  simplicity  of  Augier  and  Dumas 
is  to  be  preferred  to  the  most  ingenious  of  com- 
binations. Movement  is  Sardou's  essential  faculty. 
It,  however,  very  often  pertains  to  the  bustle  of 
actors  rather  than  to  the  logical  development  of 
action.  Such  rapidity  of  movement  could  not  be 
consistent  with  the  exhaustive  portrayal  of  man- 
ners and  characters.  Indeed,  how  could  we  grasp 
the  physiognomy  of  personages  constantly  chang- 
ing place  ?  Sardou's  style  is,  perhaps,  his  most 
personal  feature.  It  possesses  all  the  peculiarly 
dramatic  qualities  of  eclat,  spirit,  here  and  there 
color,  and  everywhere  vivacity  of  movement.  It  is 
a  style  suited  only  to  the  stage,  for  it  is  sometimes 
wanting  in  accuracy,  and  almost  always  in  breadth. 
The  author  of  Divor^ons  is,  above  all  others, 
the  most  expert,  most  flexible,  most  ingenious,  and 
most  entertaining  of  vaudevillistes.  His  originality 
consists  in  having  revived  the  ancient  vaudeville 
transmitted  to  him  by  Scribe,  in  having  renewed 
shattered  conventions,  and  in  having  introduced 
into  them  more  truth,  and  a  vivid,  piquant,  though 
by  no  means  profound  observation  of  life. 


Conclusion,  475 


CONCLUSION. 

A  S  our  century  nears  its  close,  we  find  little  to 
J.  1^  indicate  that  its  remaining  years  will  wit- 
ness a  new  revolution.  Notwithstanding  the  in- 
evitable return  of  Idealism,  already  evident,  the 
scientific  spirit  still  rules  over  all  spheres  of  in- 
tellectual activity,  and  Realism,  its  outgrowth,  over 
all  forms  of  art. 

Poetry  holds  but  a  small  place  in  the  literary 
movement  of  the  declining  century.  During  the 
Romantic  period  the  impulse  had  been  derived 
from  lyricism,  Romanticism  having  been  the  retal- 
iation of  sentiment  and  imagination  over  analysis. 
Realism,  on  the  other  hand,  is  essentially  prosaic. 
Though  several  of  our  poets  have  sought  inspira- 
tion in  poetry,  either  in  attempting  to  unite  science 
and  lyricism,  or  in  portraying  real  life  with  descrip- 
tive exactitude,  the  greater  part  have  been  at  vari- 
ance with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  or  have  no  other 
concern  than  for  words  and  rhymes.  Poetry  be- 
comes more  and  more  absorbed  in  curiosities  of 
composition.  Incapable  of  reacting  against  the  cur- 
rent which  bears  our  epoch  along,  it  seems  to  have 
renounced  all  association  with  it. 

The  novel  is  the  most  flourishing  of  all  styles, 
because  it  is  the  form  most  in  unison  with  the  spirit 


476  Literary  Movement  iji  France, 

of  the  times.  Observation  applied  to  either  material 
or  moral  life  is  the  instrument  of  the  novel.  One 
of  our  young  novelists  sees  in  human  nature  but 
blind  instincts  and  impulses.  His  frank,  sober  nar- 
ratives, vivid  and  virile  in  touch,  simple,  direct,  and 
robust  in  language,  portray  with  strong  relief  the 
purely  physical  activity  of  characters.  Another 
brings  to  psychology  that  curiosity  which  is  typical 
of  our  generation.  He  is  a  disciple  of  Stendhal,  as 
is  the  former  of  Flaubert  and  Zola ;  he  interests 
himself  solely  in  "  states  of  soul,"  or  "  conditions  of 
conscience,"  making  "designs  in  moral  anatomy." 
Whether  the  novel  be  the  work  of  the  delineator  or 
the  moralist,  —  whether  it  reproduce  exterior  man  in 
the  grossness  of  his  appetites,  or  unravel  the  attenu- 
ated shades  of  sentiment,  it  always  assumes  the  char- 
acter of  a  study.  The  novelist  observes  more  than 
he  invents,  and  his  work  only  contains  enough  fiction 
to  serve  as  a  setting  for  the  "  notes  "  which  he  takes 
from  real  life. 

Since  Dumas  and  Augier,  the  theatre  has  been 
entirely  confined  to  comedies  of  contemporary  man- 
ners. Several  poets  have  tried  to  restore  the  histor- 
ical drama,  but  whatever  talent  they  possess  cannot 
avail  in  reviving  a  form  which  seems  as  antiquated 
as  tragedy.  The  most  curious  and  significant  fea- 
ture of  the  history  of  the  theatre  during  the  last 
few  years  is  the  effort  of  Naturalism  to  apply  a  new 
"  formula "  to  dramatic  art.  Naturalistic  novelists 
have  believed  that  the  liberties  allowed  the  novel 
might  be  introduced  upon  the  stage.  After  a  lively 
campaign  against  the  fundamental  laws  of  theatrical 


Conclusion.  477 

art,  they  have  brought  out  plays  which  have  so  far 
produced  no  revolution.  Some  have  succeeded  by 
submitting  to  these  laws,  while  others  have  failed 
through  neglect  of  their  demands.  Dramas  with 
and  without  the  introduction,  development,  or  con- 
clusion of  action  have  been  seen  on  the  stage ;  their 
entire  art  consists  in  placing  before  us  a  series  of 
pictures  connected  by  a  mere  thread  of  action  dif- 
fused in  many  directions.  "  There  are  but  two  kinds 
of  plays,"  wrote  Dumas yf/f,  —  "  those  which  are  well 
or  badly  constructed."  The  new  school  has  invented 
a  third,  —  those  which  have  no  construction  w^iat- 
ever.  Moreover,  this  audacit}^  upon  which  the  sup- 
posed regenerators  of  our  theatre  plume  themselves, 
often  only  exposes  to  public  view  revolting  igno- 
minies and  indecencies.  They  then  boast  of  having 
reproduced  the  real  truth,  the  whole  truth, — as  if  they 
could  broaden  the  confines  of  art  by  returning  to 
its  infancy  and  violating  its  essential  rules  and  ele- 
mentary conventions ;  as  if  there  were  anything  new 
but  their  own  crudeness  and  cynicism  in  the  attempt 
they  proclaim  so  noisily. 

The  effort  is,  none  the  less,  characteristic.  It  is 
in  touch  with  the  passion  for  scrupulous  exactness, 
which  renewed  art  during  the  second  half  of  the 
century,  and  the  defeat  of  the  Naturalists  doubtless 
signifies  that  Alexandre  Dumas  and  Emile  Augier 
had  already  incorporated  in  their  works  all  the  truth 
admissible  in  an  art  necessarily  founded  upon  the 
conventional. 

The  excesses  of  which  it  cannot  be  accused  with- 
out injustice  have  not  succeeded  in  compromising 


478  Literary  Movement  in  France. 

that  Realism  which  has  dominated  our  literature 
during  the  past  thirty  or  forty  years.  It  remains 
the  one  great  strength  against  a  decadence  which 
has  lured  away  so  many  of  the  best  minds  of  the 
young  generation. 

There  is  a  school  of  "  Decadents."  This  school 
declares  the  citizens  of  a  decadence  "  inapt  in  public 
and  private  action,"  "inefficient  reproducers  of  fu- 
ture generations,"  "incapable  of  the  devotion  of 
deep-set  faith."  They  hold  that  the  cause  lies  in 
their  proneness  to  solitary  thought,  the  many  refine- 
ments of  their  sensations,  the  rare  delicacy  of  their 
sentiments,  sterilized  while  being  subtilized.  They 
also  find  its  origin  in  the  culture  of  their  minds, 
which,  after  having  sounded  all  ideas,  end  in  a 
scepticism  disqualifying  them  for  enthusiasm  in 
any,  because  they  comprehend  all,  conceptions,  —  in 
fine,  in  the  superiority  of  their  "minds"  and  their 
"  nerves."  But  of  what  real  value  to  literary  pro- 
duction is  this  vaunted  superiority  ? 

What  was  called  the  mal  du  Steele  fifty  years  ago 
has  been  followed  by  another  evil  which  saps  the 
very  source  of  life.  The  one  was  the  malady  of 
exalted,  vehement  souls  revolting  against  a  destiny 
too  narrow  for  their  heroic,  grandiose  dreams ;  the 
other  is  that  of  complex,  ingenious  natures,  volup- 
tuous without  passion,  accomplished  in  intellectual 
pleasures,  possessing  a  dexterity  in  danger  of  disso- 
lution, together  with  all  active  energy,  all  power  of 
loving,  every  principle  of  faith. 

A  vague  mysticism  seems  to  be  mingled  with 
this    dilettantism.       Herein    lies    no    contradiction. 


Conclusion.  479 

In  addition  to  the  desire  to  uphold  some  belief, 
this  mysticism  also  betrays  the  inability  to  adopt 
any  creed.  It  is  not  the  awakening  of  a  sturdy, 
budding  faith ;  its  cause  is  to  be  found  in  the  fatigue 
of  minds  overwrought  by  the  intellectual  activity  of 
the  age,  or  in  the  infirmity  of  souls  which  foster  a 
sentimental  religiosity.  It  also  contains  an  element 
of  affectation,  perhaps  a  secret  pleasure  in  feeling 
one's  self  capable  not  only  of  understanding,  but 
also  of  arriving  at,  a  moral  condition  so  alien  to  the 
drifts  of  the  times. 

Realism  leaves  Decadents  to  delight  in  the  refine- 
ments of  their  sterile  curiosity,  neo-mystics  to  feed 
their  mournful,  enervated  sensuality  upon  the  verses 
of  the  hnitation.  Neither  do  the  affectations  of  the 
one  corrupt  its  sincerity,  nor  the  exaltations  of  the 
other  trouble  its  equilibrium.  It  is  too  robust  to 
find  enjoyment  in  unnatural  reveries,  too  conscious 
of  its  own  strength  to  believe  in  decadence. 

Realism  is,  in  fact,  a  loyal,  virile  effort  towards 
truth.  Let  us  free  it  from  gratuitous  violences  and 
indecencies,  and,  rather  than  oppose  it  to  Idealism, 
let  us  introduce  the  ideal  into  what  is  fundamentally 
real.  It  is  a  sane,  direct,  valiant  conception  of  art, 
and  the  only  form  of  art  consistent  with  the  critical, 
scientific  spirit  of  our  times. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS  WHOSE  WORKS  HAVE   BEEN  UTILIZED 
AS  EXAMPLES  OF  THE  LITERARY  MOVEMENT. 

(The  names  are  presented  chronologically  according  to  the  dates  of  birth.) 

Rousseau,  Jean-Jacques,  1712-1788.  La  Nouvelle  He'lo'ise,  1761  ;  Emile, 
1762  ;  Du  contrat  social,  1762  ;  Confessions,  1782  ;  Correspondance, 
1858,  1892. 

Diderot,  Denis,  1713-1784.  Pensees philosophiques,  1746  ;  Bijoux  indis- 
cretes,   1748.     Drama:    le  Fils  naturel,  1757;  le  Pere  de  famille,  1758. 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  J.  H.,  1737-1814.  Voyage  a  V Isle  de 
France,  1773  ;  Etudes  de  la  nature,  1784  ;  Paul et  Virginie,  17S7. 

Chenier,  Andre,  1762-1840.  Poesies,  1819;  Commentaire  sur  Malherbe, 
1842;  Lettres  critiques  d' Andre  Chenier,  1881. 

Sta£l,  Anne  Louise  Germaine  Necker,  Madame  de,  1766-1817.  Crit- 
icism :  De  la  littdrature,  1800;  De  rAllemagne,  1813  ;  la  Revolution 
frattfaise,  1818.  Fiction  :  Delphine,  1802  ;  Corinne,  1807  ;  Dix  ann^es 
d'exil,  1 82 1. 

Chateaubriand,  Francois  Auguste,  1768-1S48.  Fiction  :  Atala,  1801  ; 
Rdne,  1805.  History  :  Essai  sur  les  revolutions,  i']<^']  ;  le  G^nie  du 
christianisme ,  5  vols.,  1802  ;  les  Martyrs,  2  vols.,  1809.  Biography: 
Itin^raire  d'un  voyage  de  Paris  a  Jerusalem,  3  vols.,  1811  ;  les  Me- 
moires  d'outre-tombe,  1849-1850. 

BfiRANGER,  Pierre  Jean,  1780-1854.  Chansons,  1815  ;  (Euvres posthumes, 
CEuvres  cotupletes,  2  vols.,  1857  ;  Correspondance,  i860. 

Barante,  Amabel  Guillaume  Prosper  BRUCifeRE  de,  1782-1866, 
Histoire  des  Dues  de  Bourgogne,  1838  ;  Tableau  de  la  liiterature  fran- 
fais  au  XVIII.  siecle,  1848  ;  Histoire  de  la  Convention  nationale,  1851  ; 
Histoire  du  Directoire,  1855. 

Stendhal  (Henri  Beyle),  1783-1842.  Miscellaneous  :  Rome,  Naples,  et 
Florence,  Histoire  de  la  peinture  en  Italic,  18 17;  Essai  sur  I 'amour, 
1822  ;  Racine  et  Shakespeare,  1827  ;  les  Memoires  d'un  touriste,  1839. 
Fiction:  Armance,  1827;  le  Rouge  et  le  Noir,  1831  ;  la  Chartreuse  de 
Parme,  1839. 

GuizoT,  Francois  Pierre  Guillaume,  1787-1874.  History  :  Histoire  de  la 
Revolution  d'Angleterre,  2  vols.,  1827-1828  ;  Cours d' Histoire moderne, 
(Histoire  de  la  Civilisation  en  Europe,  Histoire  de  la  Civilisation  en 

481 


482  Bibliography. 

J^ra»ceJ,  l?i2S-l8^0,  Miscellaneous:  Corneille  et  son  temps,  1852;  Du 
gouvernemeiit  representatif  et  de  I'^tat  actuel  de  la  France,  1816  ;  IVask- 
ington,  1 841  ;  De  la  Democratie  en  France,  1849  ;  Me'moires pour  servir 
hVhistoire  de  mon  temps,  1858-1867  ;  Meditations  sur  V ^tat actuel  de  la 
religion  chrMenne,  1866  ;  Lettres  de  Guizot,  1884  and  1887. 

ViLLEMAiN,  Abel  Francois,  i  790-1870.  Criticism  :  Cours  de  litte'rature 
francaise  (^Tableau  de  la  litte'rature fran^aise  au  XVIII.  siecle,  4  vols., 
Tableau  de  la  littJrature  francaise  au  moyen  age,  2  vols.),  1828  ;  Ta- 
bleau de  r eloquence  chrMenne  au  IV.  siecle,  1849  ;  Essais  sur  la  ge'nie 
de  Pindare  et  sur  la  poesie  lyrique,  1859  i  Souvenirs  contemporains ,  2 
vols.,  1862. 

Lamartine,  Alphonse  de,  1 790-1 869.  Poetry  :  MMitations,  1820  ;  Nou- 
velles  MMitations,  1823  ;  Harmonies,  1830  ;  Jocelyn,  1836  ;  la  Chute 
d'un  ange,  1838  ;  Re'cueillemejits poetiques,  1839  ;  Pot'sies  inedites,  1873. 
Prose  :  Voyage  en  Orient,  1835  ;  Histoire  des  Girondins,  1S47  ;  Confi- 
dences, 1849  ;  Raphael,  1849  I  Nouvelles  Confidences,  1851  ;  Graziella,  le 
Tailleur  de pierres  de  Saint-Point,  1852. 

Scribe,  Augustin  Eugene,  1791-1861.  Michel  et  Christine,  1820;  le 
Mariage  de  raison,  1826  ;  Bertrand  et  Raton,  1833  ;  la  Camaraderie, 
1837;  la  Calomnie,  1840;  le  Verre  d'eau,  Une  chaine,  1841  ;  Adrienne 
Lecouvreur,  1849. 

Thierry,  Jacques  Nicolas  Augustin,  1795-1856.  La  Conquete  de  V An- 
gleterre,  3  vols.,  1825  ;  Lettres  sur  P histoire  de  la  France,  1827  ;  Dix 
ans  d^dtudes  historiques,  1834;  R^cits  des  temps  m&ovingiens,  2  vols., 
1840  ;  Assais  sztr  I' histoire  de  la  formation  et  du  pr ogres  du  Tiers 
Etat,  1853. 

MiGNET,  FRANgois  AuGUSTE  Marie,  1796-1884.  Ne'gociations  relatives  h 
la  succession  d'Espagne,  4  vols.,  1836-1844  ;  Antonio  Perez  et  Philippe 
II.,  1845  ;  Histoire  de  Marie  Stuart,  2  vols.,  1851  ;  Charles  Quint, 
1854. 

Thiers,  Louis  Adolphe,  1797-1877.  Histoire  de  la  Revolution  frati^aise, 
10  vols.,  1823-1827  ;  Histoire  du  Consulat  et  de  P Empire,  10  vols., 
1845-1862. 

MiCHELET,  Jules,  i  798-1874.  History  :  Principes  de  la  philosophie  de 
I'histoire,  Precis  d' histoire  jfioderne,  1828  ;  Histoire  Romaine,  1831  ; 
les  Memoires  de  Luther,  2  vols.,  1835  ;  le  Proces  des  Templiers,  2  vols., 
1841-1852  ;  Histoire  de  France  (nioyen  age,  6  vols.,  1833-1843  ;  Revolu- 
tion, 1847-1853  ;  Renaissance  et  Temps  modernes,ii\o\?,.,  1878-1880). 
Posthumous  :  Histoire  du  XIX.  sikle,  3  vols.,  1876.  Miscellaneous  :  Du 
Pretre,  de  la  Femme  et  de  la  Famille,  1844  ;  le  Peuple,  1846  ;  I'Oiseau, 
1856  ;  I'Insecte,  1857  ;  l' Amour,  1858  ;  la  Femme,  1859  ;  la  Mer,  i86r ; 
la  Sorciere,  1862  ;  la  Bible  de  I' humanity,  1864  ;  la  Montagne,  1868. 
Posthumous:  Un  hiver  en  Italie,  1879  and  1893  ;  Ma  jfeunesse,  1884  ; 
Mon  Journal,  1888. 


Bibliography.  483 

Balzac,  Honorie  de,  1799-1850.  La  ComMie  Humaine,  including  Scenes 
de  la  vie  privde.  Scenes  de  la  vie  de  province.  Scenes  de  la  vie  pari- 
sienne.  Scenes  de  la  zie  politique.  Scenes  de  la  vie  militaire,  and  Scenes 
de  la  vie  de  campagtie.  La  Peau  de  chagrin,  1S30  ;  le  Colonel  Chalbert, 
1832  ;  Contes  drolatiques,  1832,  1833,  1837  ;  la  grande  Bretcche,  1832  ; 
la  Cure'e  de  Tours,  1832  ;  Louis  Lambert,  1832  ;  Eugenie  Grandet,Fer- 
ragus,  1833  ;  la  Duchesse  de  Langeleais,  Se'raphita,  1834  ;  les  Lllusions 
perdues,  1837,  1839,  1848  ;  Splendeurs  et  miseres  des  courtisanes,  1838, 
1847;  Un  menage  de  gar^-on,  1841,  1842;  les  Parents  pauvres  f  Cousin 
Pons,  Cousine  Bettc),  1S46,  1847.  Drama:  Quinola,  1840;  Pamela 
Giraud,  1842  ;  la  Mardtre,  1847  ;  Mercadet,  1855. 

ViGNY,  Alfred  Victor  de,  1799-1863.  Poetry  :  Poemes,  1822  ;  Eloa, 
1824  ;  Poemes  antiques  et  moderties,  1826,  1864  ;  les  Destinees,  1864. 
Fiction:  Cinq-Mars,  1826;  Stello,  1832;  Drama:  Othello,  1829; 
Mare'chale  d'Ancre,  1S30  ;  Chatterton,  1835  ;  Autobiography  :  your- 
nal  d'unpoete,  1867. 

Hugo,  Victor  Marie,  1802-1SS5.  Poetry,  first  period  :  Odes  et  Ballades, 
1822;  Orientates,  1827  ;  Feuilles  d'automne,  1831  ;  Chants  du  Crepus- 
cule,  1835  ;  Voix  intericures,  1837  ;  les  Rayons  et  les  Ombres,  1840. 
Second  period:  les  Chdtiments,  1853;  les  Contemplations,  1856;  la 
L/gende  des  siecles,  1859-1883  ;  Chansons  des  rues  et  des  bois,  1865  ; 
rAnnee  terrible,  1872;  l' Art  d'etre grand-pere,  1877;  Quatre  vents  de 
Vesprit,  1881  ;  Toute  la  lyre,  1889.  Drama:  Cromwell,  1827;  LLer- 
nani,  1830;  Marion  de  Lorme,  1831  ;  le  Roi  s'amuse,  1832  ;  Lucrece 
Borgia,  Marie  Tudor,  1833  ;  Angelo,  1835  ;  Ruy  Bias,  1838  ;  les  Bur- 
graves,  1843.  Fiction  :  Lfan  d'Islande,  1823  ;  Bug-Jargal,  1825  ;  le 
Dernier  jour  d'un  condamn/,  1828  ;  Notre-Dame  de  Pans,  1831  ;  les 
Mise'rables,  1862  ;  les  Travailleurs  de  la  mer,  1866  ;  T Homme  qui  rit, 
1S69  ;  Quatre-vingt-trieze ,  1S74  ;   Correspondeftce,  1896. 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  1803-1870.  Drama:  Henri  III.,  1829;  Christine, 
1830  ;  Antony,  1831  ;  Charles  VIL.,  Richard  Darlington,  183 1  ;  la 
Tour  de  N'esle,  1832  ;  Kean,  1836  ;  Mile,  de  Belle-Isle,  1839  !  "'^ 
Mariage  sous  Louis  XV.,  1841  ;  les  Demoiselles  de  Saint-Cyr,  1843. 
Fiction  :  le  Comte  de  Alonte  Cristo,  12  vols.,  1 841-1845  ;  les  Trois 
Mosquetaires,  8  vols.,  1844  \  ^<^  Reine  Mar  got,  6  vols.,  1845. 

Merimee,  Prosper,  1803-1870.  Drama  :  Theatre  de  Clara  Gazul,  1825  ; 
la  Guzla,  1826  ;  la  yacquei-ie,  1827.  Fiction  :  Tamango,  la  Venus 
d'llle,  Matteo  Flacone,  Colomba,  1830-1841  ;  Carmen,  1847  ;  les  faux 
Demetrius,  1854.  History:  le  Chronique  de  Charles  IX.,  1829;  Essai 
sur  la  guerre  sociale,  1841  ;  3Ie'langes  historiques  et  litteraires,  1855  ; 
Correspondance,  1897. 

5and,  George,  1804-1876.  Fiction,  first  period  :  Indiana,  1832  ;  Valen- 
tine, 1832  ;  Ldia,  1833  ;  Jacques,  1834  ;  Andre',  1835  ;  Leone  Leoni, 
1835  ;  Mauprat,  1836.     Second  period  :   Spiridion,   1838  ;   Compagnon 


484  Bibliography. 

tie  tour  de  France,  1840  ;  Horace,  1842  ;  Consuelo,  1842  ;  la  Comtesse  de 
Rudolstadt,  1843  ;  le  Meunier  d'Afigibault,  1845  :  le  Pec  he  de  M. 
Antoinc,  1847.  Third  period  (including  Jeanne,  1844  ;  and  le  Mare 
au  Diable,  1846) :  Teverino,  1848  ;  Piccinino,  1848  ;  la  Petite  Fadette, 
1848  :  Francois  le  Champi,  1850  ;  Filleule,  1851  ;  Mont  Revcche,  1851  ; 
les  Maitres  sonneurs,  1852  ;  les  Beaux  messieurs  du  bois  dortf,  1858  ; 
Jeatt  de  la  Roche,  i860  ;  le  Marquis  de  Villemer,  1861  ;  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Quintinie,  1863  ;  la  Confession  d'une  jeune  fille,  1865;  Made- 
moiselle de  Merquen,  1870.  Autobiography  :  Histoire  de  ma  vie,  8 
vols.,  1855  ;  Correspondance,  10  vols.,  1882-1884. 

Sainte-Beuve,  Charles  Augustin,  1804-1869.  Criticism  :  Tableau  his- 
iorique  de  la  poisie  frant^aise  au  XVI.  siecle,  1828  ;  Critiques  et por- 
traits litter  aires,  5  vols.,  1832-1839;  Port-Royal,  5  vols.,  1840-1860; 
Portraits  litt^raires,  2  vols.,  1844  ;  Portraits  contemporains,  2  vols., 
1846  ;  Chataubriand  et  son  group  littdraire,  i860  ;  Causeries  du  Lundi, 
15  vols.,  1857-1862  ;  Nouveaux  Lundis,  13  vols.,  1863-1869  ;  Premiers 
Lundis,  3  vols.,  post.  Poetry  :  Poesies  de  Jostph  Delorme,  1829  ;  Con- 
solations, 1S30  ;  Pens^es  d'aout,  1836.  Fiction  :  Voluptd,  1834.  Cor- 
respondance, \'i>11  and  1880. 

Barbier,  Henri  Auguste,  1805-18S2.  lambes  et  poemes,  1831  ;  Pianto, 
Lazare,  1833  ;  Satires  et  poemes,  1837  ;  la  Curde,  F  Idole. 

Brizeux,  Julien  Auguste  Pelage,  1805-1880.  Marie,  1840  ;  les  Bretons, 
1846;  les  Histoires poe'liques,  1856;  les    7'ernaires,  1858. 

Nisard,  Desire,  1806-1888.  Histoire  de  la  (lit.)  fran^aise,  1 844-1861  ; 
Etudes  sur  la  Renaissance,  1855  ;  Etudes  de  critique  litter  aire,  1858  ; 
Atudes  d' histoire  et  de  littilrature,  1859  ;  N^ouvelles  Etudes  d' histoire  et 
de  littt'rature,  1864;  Melanges  d' histoire  et  de  litter ature,  186S  ;  Nou- 
veaux Melanges  d' histoire  et  de  littdrature,  1886  ;  Portraits  et  Etudes 
d'histoire  litteraire,  1886. 

MussET,  Louis  Charles  Alfred  de,  1810-1857.  Poetry:  Contes  d'Es- 
pagne  et  d'ltalie,  1829  ;  Rolla,  1833  ;  les  Nuits,  Lettre  a  Lamartine, 
I'Espoir  en  Dieu,  1835-1838  ;  le  Souvenir,  1841.  Comedy:  Caprices 
de  Marianne,  1833  ;  Lorenzaccio,  Fantasia,  On  ne  baditie  pas  avec 
Famour,  1834  ;  le  Chandelier ,  1835  ;  //  ne  faut  jurer  de  rien,  1836. 
Fiction  :   Confession  d'un  homme  du  siecle,  1836  ;  Contes,  1837-1844. 

Gautier,  Theophile,  1811-1872.  Poetry  :  Poesies,  1830  ;  Albertus^ 
1832  ;  ComMie  de  la  mort,  1838  ;  Emaux  et  Camt'es,  1853.  Fiction  : 
les  jfeunes  France,  1833  ;  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin,  1835  ;  Fortunio, 
1838  ;  les  Grotesques,  1844  ;  le  Roman  de  la  momie,  1856  ;  le  Capitaine 
Francasse,  1861-1863  ;  Spirite,  1866.  Travel  :  Tra  los  monies,  1843  ; 
Zigzags,  1845  ;  Italia,  1852  ;  Constantinople,  1854  ;  Loin  de  Paris,  1864  ; 
Quand  on  voyage,  1865  ;  Russie,  1866  ;  I'Orient,  1876.  Criticism  : 
Portraits  et  souvenirs  litter  aires,  18 —  ;  Histcnre  du  Romantisme,  18 — ; 
Portraits  contemporains,  1 8 — . 


Bibliography.  485 

PONSARD,  Francois,  1814-1867,  Lucrhe,  1843  ;  Charlotte  Corday,  1850; 
le  Lion  amoureux,  1866. 

SCHERER,  Edmond  Henri  Adolphe,  1815-18S9.  Melanges  d'histoire  re- 
ligieuse,  1864;  Etudes  stir  la  litte'rature  contemporaine,  9  vols.,  1886- 
1889  ;  Diderot,  1881  ;  Melchior  Grimm,  1887. 

AUGIER,  Emile,  1820-1889.  La  Cigue\  1844  ;  F Homme  de  Hen,  1845  ; 
I'Aventuriere,  1848  ;  Gabrielle,  1849  ;  le  Joueur  de  fldte,  1850  ;  Diane, 
1852 ;  la  Pierre  qui  touche,  1853  ;  Philiberte,  1853  ;  le  Mariage 
d'Opytnpe,  1855  ;  le  Gendre  de  M.  Poirier,  1855  ;  la  Ceinttire  dor^e, 
1855  ;  la  Jeunesse,  1858  ;  les  Lionnes pauvres ,  1858  ;  un  beau  Mariage, 
1859  ;  les  Effronte's,  1861 ;  le  Fils  de  Giboyer,  1862  ;  Maitre  GuMn, 
1864  ;  la  Contagion,  1866  ;  Paul  Forestier,  1868  ;  Lions  et  Renards, 
1869  ;  le  Proscriptum,  1869  ;  Jean  de  ThomT?ieray,  1873  !  Madame 
Caverlet,  1876  ;  les  Fourchambault,  1878. 

Leconte  de  Lisle,  Charles  Marie,  1820-1894.  Poemes  antiques,  1853  ; 
Poemes  barbares,  1859  I  Pohmes  tragiques,  1884  ;  Dernier s poemes,  1895. 

Flaubert,  Gustave,  1821-1880.  Madame  Bovary,  1857  ;  Saldmmho, 
1862;  Education  setitimentale,  1869;  /a  Tentation  de  Saint  Antoine, 
1874  ;  /^j'  Trois  Contes,  Saint  Julien  V Hospitaller,  Herodias,  Un  caeur 
simple,  Bouvard  et  P/cuchet,  1881. 

GoNcouRT,  Edmond  Louis  Antoine  Huot  de,  1822-1896  ;  Jules 
Alfred  Huot  de,  1830-1870.  Historiographical  studies  :  Histoire  de 
la  society  fran(;aise  (Revolution  et  Directoire J,  1854-1855  ;  la  Revolu- 
tion dans  les  ?nceurs,  1854  ;  Portraits  intimes  du  X VLII.  siecle,  1856- 
1858  ;  Marie  Antoinette,  1858  ;  les  Mattresses  de  Louis  XV.,  1878- 
1879;  la  Femnie  an  XVIII.  siecle,  1862  ;  VArt  au  XVIII.  siecle, 
1874  ;  V Amour  au  XVIII.  siecle,  1877.  Fiction  :  Charles  Demailly, 
i860  ;  Soeur  Philomene,  1861  ;  Ren^e  Mauperin,  1864  ;  Gertninie  Lacer- 
teux,  1865  ;  Manette  Salomon,  1867  ;  Madame  Gervaisais,  1869  ;  Ed- 
mond :  la  Fille  Elisa,  1878  ;  les  Freres  Zemgamno,  1879  i  ^"^  Faustin, 
1882  ;  Ch&ie,  1884  ;  yournal des  Goncourts,  7  vols.,  1 887-1 894. 

Banville,  Theodore  Faullain  de,  1823-1891.  Poetry:  Cariatides, 
1842  ;  Stalactites,  1846  ;  Odelettes,  1856  ;  Odes  funambulesques,  1857  ; 
Nouvelles  Odes  funambulesques ,  1869  ;  Idyles  prusiennes,  1871. 
Drama  :  Gringoire,  1866  ;  Socrate  et  sa  femme,  1885.  Fiction  :  Contes 
feeriques,  Esquisses  parisiennes,  1859. 

Renan,  Ernest,  1823-1892.  Ecclesiastical  history,  1848  :  AverroesetVaver- 
ro'isme,  1852  ;  Histoire  g^ndrale  et  systthne  co/npare'  des  langues  se'mi- 
iiques,  1855  ;  Etudes 2^^^  Nouvelles  d'histoire  religieuse,  1857  and  1884  ; 
les  Origines  du  Christianisme,  8  vols.  (Vicde  yjsus,  1863  ;  les  Apotres, 
1866;  Saint  Paul,  1869;  P Antichrist,  1873;  les  Evangiles,  1877; 
PEglise  chre'tienne,  1879;  Marc  Aurele,  i88ly' ;  Histoire  du  Peuple- 
Israel,  5  vols.,  1888-1894.  Miscellaneous  :  I'Avenir  de  la  Science, 
1848  ;  Essais  de  morale  et  de  critique,  1859  ;   Questions  contemporaines, 


486  Bibliography. 

1868  ;  Dialogues philosophiques,  1878  ;  MtHanges  d'histmre  et  de  voy- 
ages, 1878  ;  Conft'rances  d'Angleierre,  1880  ;  Marc  Aurele,  1881  ; 
Souvenirs  d'Enfance  et  de  Jeunesse,  1883  ;  Feuilles  ddtach^es,  1892  ; 
Letires  intimes,  1896.  Philosophical  drama  :  (Caliban,  I'Eau  de 
youvence,  le  Pretre  de  N^mi,  VAbbesse  de  jfouairej,  1879-1886. 

Manuel,  Eugene,  1823-  .  Poetry :  Pages  intimes,  1866  ;  Palmes 
populaires,  1871  ;  Pendant  la  guerre,  1872  ;  En  voyage,  1881.  Drama  : 
les  Ouvriers,  1870. 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  fits,  1824-1895.  La  Dame  aux  cam^lias,  1852  ; 
Diane  de  Lys,  1853  ;   le  Demi-Monde,    1855  ;    un   Question    d'argent, 

1857  ;  le  Fils  naturel,  1858  ;  le  Plre prodigue,  1859  ">  I' Ami  des  femmes, 
1864;  les  Idi!es  de  Madame  Aubray,  1S67  ;  tme  Visite  de  noces,  1871  ; 
la  Princesse  Georges,  1871  ;  la  Femme  de  Claude,  1873  ;  M.  Alphonse, 
1873  ;  I'Etranglre,  1876  ;  la  Princesse  de  Bagdad,  18S1  ;  Denise,  1885  ; 
Francillon,  1887.  Fiction  :  la  Dame  aux  catndlias,  1848  ;  l' Affaire 
Clemenceau,  1867. 

Taine,  Hippolyte  Adolphe,  1828-1892.  Assai  sur  La  Fontaine,  1853  ; 
Essai  sur  Tite-Live,  1856  ;  les  Philosophes  fran^ais  du  XLX.  sihle, 
1856  ;  Essais  de  critique  et  d'histoire,  1857  i  Histoire  de  la  litte'rature 
anglaise,  1863  ;  Thomas  Graindorge,  1S63-1865  ;  N'ouveaux  Essais, 
1865  ;  Philosophie  d'art  en  Ltalie,  1865-1869  ;  Notes  sur  Paris,  1867  ; 
r Ldeal  dans  I'art,  1867  ;  Philosophie  d'art  dans  les  Pays-Bas,  1868  ; 
De  r intelligence,  1870  ;  Notes  sur  I'Angleterre,  1872  ;  Origines  de  la 
France  contemporaine,  1876-1890. 
Sarcey,  Francisque,  1828-  .  (Critique  du  Temps.) 
Feuillet,   Octave,    1829-1S90.     Le  Roman  d'un  jeune  homme  pauvre, 

1858  ;  le  Comte  Kostia,  1863  ;  M.  de  Camors,   1867  ;  Ladislas  Blowski, 

1869  ;  yulia  de  Trccoetir,  1872  ;  Mt'ta  Holdennis,  1873  ;  Samuel  Brohl 
et  Cie,  1S77  ;  Histoire  d\ine  Parisienne,  1881  ;  la  Morte,  i886  ;  la  BHe^ 
les  Amours  de  Philippe,  1887  ;  Honneur  d'artiste,  1896. 

Baudelaire,  Charles  de,  1831-1867.     Fleurs  du  mal,  1857. 

Sardou,  Victorien,  1831-  .  Les  Pattcs  demouche,  1861  ;  N'osintimes 
1861  ;  les  Ganachcs,  1862  ;  la  Famille  Benoiton,  1865  ;  Nos  bons  vil- 
lageois,  1866  ;  Stfraphine,  1S68  ;  Patrie,  1869  ;  Fernande,  1870  ;  le  Roi 
Carotte,  1871  ;  Ragabas,  1872  ;  Oncle  Sam,  1875  ;  la  Haine,  1875 
Dora,  1877  ;  les  Bourgeois  du  Pont  d'Arcy,  1878  ;  Datziel  Rochat^ 
1880  ;  Divor(ons,  1883  ;  Odette,  1881  ;  FMora,  1882  ;  Theodora,  1884 
Georgette,  1885  ;  la  Tosca,  1887  ;  Thermidor,  1891  ;  Madame  Sans- 
Gene,  1893  ;  la  Gismonda,  1894  ;  Marcelle,  1895. 

Barbey,  d'Aurevilly,  1839-1876.  L Amour  impossible,  1841  ;  la  B ague 
d'Annibal,  1843  ;  Pr ophites  du  passt'e,  Une  vieille  maitresse,  1851  ; 
VEnsorcelie,  1854  ;  Une  pretre  marie,  1865. 

Sully  Prudhomme,    Rene   Francois  Arm  and,    1S39-        •     Stances  et 


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po^mes,  les  Epreuves,  1865  ;  les  Solitudes,  1869  ;  les  Destins,  1872  \ 
Vaines  iendr esses,  la  Vie  interieure,  1S75  ;  la  yustice,  1878  ;  le  Prisme, 
1886;  le  Bonheur,  1888.     Poetic  criticism,  1884-1896. 

Zola,  Emile,  1840-  .  Les  Mysleres  de  Marseilles ,  le  Vceu  d'une 
morte,  Contes  a  Ninon,  1864  ;  le  Confession  de  Claude,  1865  ;  TJUrese 
Raquin,  1867;  Madeleine  Ftfrai,  1868  ;  les  Rougon-Macquart :  First 
Series  (la  Fortune  des  Rougon,  la  Cure'e,  le  Ventre  de  Paris,  la  Con- 
quete  des  Plassans,  la  Faute  de  V Abbd  Mouret,  son  Excellence  Eugene 
Rougon,  rAssommoir,  une  Page  d'amour.  Nana),  1871-1881  ;  Second 
Series :  (Pot  Pouille,  Au  bonheur  des  dames,  la  yoie  de  Germinal, 
FGEuvre,  la  Terre,  le  Reve,  la  Bete  humaine,  V Argent,  la  Debdcle,  le 
Docteur  Pascal),  1882-1893  ;  Lonrdes,  1894;  Rome,  1895.  Criticism; 
le  Roman  experimental,  18S0  ;  les  Romanciers  naturalisies,  188 1  ;  les 
Auteurs  democratiques,  1881  ;  Documents  littt'r aires,  1880  ;  une  Cam- 
pagne,  1881. 

Daudet,  Alphonse,  1840-  .  Poetry  :  les  Amour  euses,  1858.  Fiction: 
Fromontjeune  et  Risler  aind,  1874;  Jack,  1876;  le  Nabab,  1880;  les 
Rois  en  exil,  V Evang'eliste ,  1883  ;  Sapho,  1885  ;  Nouma  Roumestan, 
1887;  rimmortel,  1888  ;  Rose  et  Ninette,  1891  ;  la  Petite  Paroisse,  le 
Soutien  de  famille ,  1S95.  Satire:  Tartarin  de  Tarascon,  1872;  Tar- 
tarin  sur  les  Alpes,  1886  ;  Port  Tarascon,  1890.  Autobiographical, 
etc.  :  le  Petit  Chose,  1868  ;  Lettres  de  mon  moulin,  1869  ;  Lettres  d'un 
Absent,  1871  ;  Robert  Helmont,  1874  ;  Contes  du  Lundi,  1875  J  ^^^ 
Cignes,  1883  ;  les  Femmes  d' Artistes,  1885  ;  la  Belle  Niverttaise,  1886 ; 
Trente  ans  de  Paris,  Souvenirs  d'un  homme  de  lettres,  1888.  Drama: 
la  De7-niere  Jdole,  1862  ;  VCEillet  blanc,  1865  ;  le  Frere  atn/,  1868  ;  le 
Sacrifice,  1869:  Lise  Tavernier ,  F Arlesienne ,  1872;  le  Char,  1878; 
I'Obstdcle,  1890;  {le  Tr^sor  d'Artalan,  1897). 

COPPEE,  Francois  Edouard  Joachim,  1842-  .  Poetry  :  le  Reliquaire, 
1866  ;  les  Intimites,  1868  ;  Poemes  modernes,  1869  ;  les  Humbles,  Pro- 
menades et  int^rieures,  1872;  le  Cahier  Rouge,  1874;  Olivier,  1875; 
Pendant  le  si^ge,  1875  ;  ^^^  Mois,  1877  ;  le  A^aufrage,  1878  ;  Poesies, 
1879;  Contes  en  vers,  1881-1887.  Drama:  le  Passant,  1869;  Pour  la 
couronne,  1896. 

Heredia,  Jose  Maria  de,  1842.     Les  Trophies,  1893, 

France,  Anatole,  1844-1884.  Criticism  :  la  Vie  litte'raire,  1888-1890. 
Fiction  :  le  Crime  de  Sylvestre  Bonnard,  1881  ;  Thais,  1890 ;  les  Opi- 
nions de  yerome  Coignard,  1893  ;  le  Lys  rouge,  1894  ;  le  yardin  d'£pi- 
cure,  1894. 

Faguet,  Emile,  1847-  .  Seizicme  siecle,  1884  ;  Dix-septieme  siecle, 
1889  ;  Dix-huitihme  siecle,  1890  ;  Politiqucs  et  moralistes  au  XIX. 
siecle,  1892  ;  Notes  sur  le  the'dtre  contemporain,  8  vols.,  1885-1894  ;  la 
Trag/die  au  XVI.  sikle,  1883. 

Brunetiere,   Ferdinand,    1849-        •     Etudes  critiques,   5  vols.,   1880- 


488  Bibliography. 

1882  ;  le  Roman  naturaliste,  1S83  ;  Hisioire  et  litt^rature,  3  vols., 
1884-1886 ;  Questions  de  critique,  i838  ;  Notivelles  Questions  de 
critique,  F Involution  des  genres,  F Evolution  de  la  critique,  les  Epoques 
du  thtfdtre  franfais,  V J^volution  de  la poe'sie  lyrique,  1890-1893. 

VogOe,  Melchior  de,  1830-  .  Le  Roman  russe,  1886;  Souvenirs  et 
Visions,  1888  ;  Regards  historiques  et  litteraire,  1892  ;  Devant  le  siecle, 
1896. 

Pellissier,  Georges,  1852-  .  Editions  classiques  (I'Art  po/tique  de 
Boileau,  V Art  po/tique  de  Vauquelin  de  la  Fresneye,  les  Martyrs  de 
Chateaubriand,  le  Misanthrope  de  Moliere,  le  Nicomede  de  Corneille), 
1887-1890  ;  le  Mouvcment  litt&aire  au  XIX.  siecle,  1889  ;  Essais  de 
litt&attire  contemporaine,  1893  ;  Nouveaux  Essais  de  litf/rature  con- 
temporaine,  1894  ;  Morceaux  choisis  des pontes  du  XVI.  siecle  (Marat, 
Ronsard,  Dti  Bellay,  d'Aubign^J,  1897. 

Bourget,  Paul,  1852-  .  Poetry:  la  Vie  inquiete,  1874;  Edel,  1878  ; 
les  Aveux,  1882;  Poesies,  1885.  Criticism:  Essais  de  psychologie  con- 
temporaine, 1883  ;  Nouveaux  Essais,  1885.  Travel :  Sensations 
d'ltalie,  1891.  Fiction  :  V Irreparable,  1S84  ;  Cruelle  /nigme,  1885  ; 
un  Crime  d' amour,  1886  ;  Andr^  Corne'lis,  Mensonges,  1887  ;  Pastels, 
1888  ;  le  Disciple,  1889  ;  Un  coeur  de  femme,  1890  ;  Nouveaux  Pas- 
tels, 1891  ;  la  Terre  promise,  Cosmopolis,  1892  ;  un  Scruple,  1893  ; 
Outre-Mer,   1895  ;    une  Idylle  tragique,  1896  ;  Recommencements,  1897, 

LemaItre,  Jules,  1853-  .  Criticism  :  les  Contemporains,  5  vols.,  1886- 
Impressions  de  the'dtre,  8  vols.,  1888.  Fiction:  Sifrtfnus,  1886;  Dix 
Contes,  1889;  les  Bois,  i?>()2  ;  My  rr  ha,  1894.  Poetry:  les  Medaillons, 
1880;  Petites  Orientates,  1883.  Drama:  Revoltde,  1889;  le  D^puti 
Leveau,  1690 ;  le  Mariage  blanc,  1891  ;  Elipotte,  1893  ;  les  Rois,  1893  ; 
I' Age  difficile,  le  Pardon,  1895. 

Rod,  Edouard,  1857-  •  Criticism  :  Etudes  stir  le  XIX.  siecle,  1888  ; 
les  Idt'es  Morales  du  temps  present,  1891.  Fiction:  la  Cotirse  h  la 
Morte,  1887  ;  le  Sens  de  la  Vie,  1889  ;  la  Vie  de  Michel  Tessier,  1892  ; 
la  Seconde  Vie  de  Michel  Tessier,  1893. 

Hennequin,  Emile,  1858-1888.  La  Critique  scientijiqtie ,  1888  ;  Etudes  de 
critique  scientifique,  1889. 

TissoT,  Ernest,  1867-  .  La  Pohie  de  Vigny,  1887  ;  les  Evolutions  de 
la  critique  fran^aise,  1890. 


INDEX. 


Abelard,  29 

Aben-Hamet,  106 

Academy,  French,  126,  241,  279, 
28 I,  468 

Adolphe,  108 

yEsop,  7 

A'  Kempis,  Imitation ,  16,  479 

Album,  128 

Alceste,  12 

Alexander,  240,  344 

Alexandrine,  of  Ronsard  and  the 
Pleiade,  47,  48,  138,  139,  141  ; 
of  Classicism,  138-145  ;  its  rhythm 
in  Malherbe,  138,  139,  142,  146, 
147  ;  in  Boileau,  142,  146,  147  ; 
in   Racine,    142-144 ;   its   rhyme, 

140,  141  ;  of  Romanticism,  139- 
149  ;  its  rhythm  in  Chenier,  47, 
48,    144 ;    in   Victor    Hugo,    139, 

141,  14S  ;  in  Sainte-Beuve,  148, 
189 ;  in  Gautier,  148,  210 ;  its 
rhyme,  138,  140,  141 

Amphion,  372 

Amyot,  130 

Ancients,  5,  15,  267,  268 

Antiquity,  in  Classicism,  5-10 ;  in 
Romanticism,  112-114,  119,   120 

Art  {see  Antiquity),  Classic,  4-1 1, 
13-15,  18-20,  84-97,  322,  323; 
pseudo-Classic,  86,  87,  98  ;  Ro- 
mantic, 46,  112-114,  118-122, 
133-125  ;  Realistic,  333-338,  368, 

369  , 
Augier,  Emile,  344,  464-473,  476, 
477  ;  preceded  by  Dumas,  464  ; 
replaces  vaudeville  by  true  com- 
edy, 464  ;  Dumas'  opinion  of 
Gabrielle,  465  ;  influence  of  Du- 
mas, 465  ;  first  manner,  466 ; 
second  manner,  467  ;  confines 
himself  to  prose,  467  ;  moral  in- 
fluence, 467,  468  ;  equilibrium, 
468  ;  extent  of  his  sphere,  469- 
471  ;  good  sense,  471,  472  ;  Clas- 
sical qualities  of  style,  472,  473  ; 
Gabrielle,  464,  466,  467,  469  ;  le 


Gendre  de  M.  Poirier,  465,  467, 
469  ;  le  Mariage  d'Olympe,  465, 
469,  472  ;  Philiberte,  465,  466  ; 
la  Cigue,  466  ;  l' Homme  de  bien, 
466,  467  ;  V Aventuriere,  466 
472  ;  le  youeur  de  FliUe,  466  ; 
Diane,  466  ;  Fourchambault,  467  ; 
Paul  Forestier,  467  ;  la  yeunesse, 
467  ;  les  Lionnes  pauvres,  334, 
469  ;  Madame  Caverlet,  469  ;  les 
Effrontes,  469,  471,  472  ;  la  Con- 
tagion, 469,  472  ;  le  Fils  de 
Giboyer,  469,  471  ;  la  Bourse, 
r Honneur  et  I' Argent,  473 


B 


Bacon,  36,  287 

Ballades,  of  Hugo,  175  ;  of  Ban- 
ville,  343 

Ballance,  289 

Balzac,  J.  de,  268,  395 

Balzac,  Honore  de,  as  novelist,  36, 
307,  308,  311-320,  332,  410,  411, 
454;  as  initiator  of  Realism,  311, 
332;  abstraction  and  idealization, 
311,  312  ;  his  Romanticism,  312  ; 
idealizes  the  vulgar,  312,  313, 
315  ;  his  materialism,  313  ;  good 
unconscious,  313,  314;  appear- 
ance and  mannerisms,  314,  315  ; 
lack  of  refinement,  315  ;  portrays 
details  in  objects,  315  ;  portrays 
details  in  character,  316,  317, 
450  ;  his  creative  power,  317  ; 
historian  of  his  times,  318,  319  ; 
style,  319,  320  ;  "  Human  Com- 
edy," 304,  312,  313,  315,  317- 
319;  Phe  Goriot,  41 1  ;  Cousine 
Bette,  411;  Eugenie  Grandet,  411; 
as  dramatist,  450,  451  ;  Quinola 
Mercadet,  la  Alardtre,  Pamela 
Giraud,  450 

Banville,  Theodore  de,  120,  347- 
349,  368  ;  disciple  of  Gautier, 
347  ;  his  cult  for  rhyme,  348  ; 
superficiality,  349  ;  opposed  to 
Realism,   349 


4S9 


490 


Index. 


Barante,  24S,  249,  270,  271  ;  applies 
narrative  method  to  history,  248  ; 
impersonality,  248,  249 ;  facts 
speak  for  themselves,  24S  ;  applies 
Madame  de  Stael's  method  to 
criticism,  270,  271 

Barbier,  Auguste,  210,  211  ;  as 
author  of  Pianto,  210  ;  originality 
in  la  Cure'e  and  I'Jdole,  2IO  ;  in- 
fluence of  Chenier  in  les  lambes, 
210,  211  ;  vigor  of  style,  211  ; 
popular  and  cynical,  211  ;  les 
lambes,  210  ;  Pianto^  210  ;  I'ldole, 
210;  la  Cicree,  2ro 

Barthelemy,  77  ;  Voyage  d' Anachar- 
S2S,  77 

Baudelaire,  311,  349-353,  368  ;  dis- 
ciple of  Gautier,  349  ;  sensuality 
and  mysticism,  350 ;  originality, 
351  ;  conception  of  nature  and 
art,  351  ;  style,  352  ;  fanatical  ad- 
mirers, 353  ;  Fleurs  du  Mai,  349, 
352 

Beaumarchais,  43,  91 

Beethoven,  147 

Beranger,  150-153  ;  separated  from 
Romantic  movement,  150,  151, 
153  ;  new  treatment   of  chanson, 

150,  151  ;  popular  and  scholarly, 

151,  152  ;  faults  of  style,  152  ; 
commonplace  philosophy,  152, 
153 ;  compared  with  Romantic 
poets,  153  ;  Roger  Bontettips,  153  ; 
le  Gaiidriole,  153 

Bertin,  154,  155 

Boileau,  2,  3,  5-7,  9,  14,  16-18,  85, 
128,  142,  146,  147,  274,  280  ;  Art 
pOc'tique,  2,  6,  20,  23 

Bonald,  74,  102 

Bonstetten,  57 

Bossuet,  3,  4,  14,  72,  74,  100,  200; 
Di scours  sur  V histoire  univer- 
selle,  4 

Bouhours,  Father,  126,  I2g 

Bourbons,  115 

Bourdaloue,  18 

Brifaut,  89,  90  ;  Minus  II.,  89 

Brizeux,  211-213  ;  resemblance  to 
Vigny,  211  ;  scruples  in  form  and 
substance,  211,  212;  as  poet  of 
Brittany,  212  ;  Marie  his  purest 
work,  210,  212,  213  ;  les  Bretons, 
212  ;  les  Histories  poctique,  212  ; 
les  Ternaires,  212 

Buddhism  of  Leconte  de  Lisle,  356, 
358,  370 


Buflon,  44,  65,  76,  135 
Byron,  115,  116,  155 


Cabanis,  317 

Cagliostro,  312 

Camoens,  169 

Camors,  M.  de,  408,  409,  410 

Campistron,  86,  121 

Cartesian  rationalism,  17 

Catholicism,  of  Classicism,  15-17, 
19  ;  in  Chauteaubriand,  55,  59, 
67,  68,  72-74,  75,  76,  102-104, 
119,  321  ;  of  poets  of  Romanti- 
cism, 102-105  ;  in  Baudelaire, 
350,  351  ;  in  Renan,  396-399  ;  in 
Feuillet,  409,  410 

Cenacle,  128,  179,  184,  193,  379 

Cervantes,  419 

Champfleury,  417,  419 

Chanson  of  Beranger,  150-153 

Charlemagne,  240 

Charles  VI.,  241 

Charles  X.,  95 

Chateaubriand,  34-36,  46,  52,  53, 
55,  58,  59.  64,  65,  67-83,  99, 102- 
104,  106,  III,  112,  114,  116,  119, 
132,  133,  135,  156,  180,  24^,  244, 
269,  291,  293,  305,  30S.  321,  336, 
339,  416,  420  ;  as  leader  of  Ro- 
manticism, 52,  8r,  83,  99,  339  - 
compared  with  Madame  de  Stael, 
52,  53,  65,  67-69,  81  ;  revives. 
Christianity,  55,  59,  67,  68,  72- 
76,  102-104,  1 79,  321  ;  paganism, 
46,  75,  76,  119  ;  as  painter  of  na- 
ture, 35,  64, 76-78,  III,  305.  416  ; 
as  artist,  68,  69,  73-77  ;  subjec- 
tive and  objective,  70-72,  106, 
2gi  ;  melancholy,  70-72,  loS  ; 
travels,  69,  77  ;  as  politician,  69, 
70  ;  revives  criticism,  74,  75,  269  ; 
renovates  history,  77-79 ;  243- 
245,  293,  336  ;  restores  art  of 
Middle  Ages,  112,  119;  intro- 
duces English  literature,  114, 
116;  renovates  language,  80,  81, 
83,  132,  133,  135  ;  decline, 
82,  308  ;  considered  in  his  influ- 
ence :  see  Thierry,  78,  83,  243, 
244,  293  ;  see  Lamartine,  156  ;  see 
Victor  Hugo,  So,  iSo  ;  see  Flau- 
bert, 416,  420  ;  Essais  sur  les 
Revolutions,  53,  67,  72,  80 ;  les 
Martyrs,  46,   74,   75,  So,  82,  S3, 


Index. 


491 


Chateaubriand — C071. 

243,  244,  293,  416  ;  le  G^nie  dii 
chrlstianisme,  67,  68,  72,  73,  80, 
102,  103,  112,  157;  Aiala,  73, 
74,  132  ;  la  Vie  de  Ranee,  68  ; 
ritim'raire,  76,  77  ;  les  Alt'moires 
d'outre-tomhe,  82 

Chatterton,  106,  169,  236,  332 

Chenedolle,  80 

Chenier,  Andre,  23,  24,  44-51,  52, 
119,  144,  155,  165,  i6g,  210,  211, 
348 ;  as  precursor  of  Romanti- 
cism, 23,  24,  44,  46-48,  50-52, 
119,  144,  165,  210,  211,  348  ; 
conception  of  love,  45,  46,  50  ;  of 
art,  23,  24,  46-4S,  51  ;  of  nature, 
49-50  ;  of  antiquity,  45,  46,  119  ; 
paganism,  44-46,  155,  348  ;  reno- 
vates versification,  47,  48,  50, 
144  ;  genius  rises  in  Fanny,  50, 
51  ;  premature  death,  51,  i6g  ; 
Hermes,  44,  45  ;  V Invention 
VEpitre  a  Lebrutt,  47  ;  Fanny, 
50,  347 

Chenier,  Marie  Joseph,  157 

Chilperic,  261 

Choisy,  Abbe,  241 

Christianity,  revived  by  Rousseau, 
27.  33.  34.  35  ;  by  Madame  de 
Stael,  56-60,  103  ;  by  Chateau- 
briand, 55,  59,  67,  68,  72-76, 
102-104,  119.  321  ;  in  Romantic 
poets,  101-105  ;  see  Hugo,  La- 
martine,  Vigny. 

Classicism,  1-2 1  ;  duration  and 
character  of,  i,  2-4,  84,  85,  97, 
322  ;  most  brilliant  period  of, 
3,  22,  84  ;  two  great  masterpieces, 
4  ;  Greco-Latin  antiquity  in  i6th 
and  17th  centuries,  5-7,  8-10,  97  ; 
antipathy  for  national  antiquity, 
7,  8,  112;  conception  of  art,  4,  5, 

19,  20,  121,  122,  323  ;  of  love, 
12,  13,  28  ;  of  nature,  13-15,  121  ; 
suppression  of  ego,  11-13  \  Cathol- 
icism of,  15-17,  19  ;  reason  of,  4, 
17,  18,  20,  122,  396  ;  dogmatism 
of,  4,  20-22,  322  ;  types  of,  10, 
II,  18,  218-220,  227  ;   tragedy  of, 

20,  214,  217-220,  223,  224,  227  ; 
see  Corneilie  and  Racine  ;  comedy 
of,  217-219  ;  see  Moliere  ;  history 
of,  17-20;  240-242,  249,  250; 
poetry  of,  2,  4,  5,  17,  20,  121, 
122,  364;  criticism  of,  18,  19, 
267,  268  ;  optimism  of,  21,   108  ; 


decadence  of,  84,  85,  97,  98 ; 
language  of,  20,  124-127,  130, 
135-137  ;  versification  of,  138, 
139,  141-144,  146,  147  ;  see  Boi- 
leau,  Corneilie,  Maiherbe,  and 
Racine. 

Clovis,  19 

Comedy,  of  Classicism,  217-219,  see 
Moliere  ;  of  precursors  of  19th 
century  :  see  Diderot  for  Serious 
Comedy,  38-40  ;  of  Romanticism  : 
see  Scribe,  239,  449  ;  of  Realism 
(Comedy  of  Manners),  449-473  ; 
see  Balzac,  450-451;  j^^  Dumas 
fits,  451-464;  see  Augier,  464- 
473  ;  see  Sardou,  473,  474 

Constant,  Benjamin,  57,  114 ; 
Adolphe,   loS 

Constitutionnel,  157 

Corinne,  58,  291 

Corneilie,  5,  5,  8,  li,  16,  18,  117, 
i2g,  217,  218,  284,  334,  44S  ; 
Cid,  5,  6,  334  ;  Don  Sancho,  5  ; 
Nicomede,  5  ;  Polyeucte,  16,  45S 

Cowper,  190 

Crebillon,  Cromwell,  241 

Crebillon,_/f/j,  28 

Criticism,  of  Classicism,  18,  19,  267, 
268  ;  of  pseudo-Classicism,  85-87  ; 
269,  270,  272  ;  of  Romanticism, 
267-290  ;  see  Villemain,  273-277  ; 
see  Nizard,  277-281  ;  see  Sainte- 
Beuve,  281-290  ;  of  Realism,  337, 
338.  385-405  ;  see  Sainte-Beuve, 
385-387  ;  ^^^  Taine,  387-396  ;  see 
Renan,  396-405 

Cromwell,  226 

Curtius,  Quintus,  126 

Cyril,  358 

D 

Dagobert,  261 

D'Alembert,  422 

Dante,  83,  117,  121 

Danton,  137,  263 

D'Aubignac,  86 

Daudet,  Alphonse,  432,  439-447  ; 
contrasted  with  Zola,  439,  440  ; 
with  Flaubert,  443,  444;  with 
the  Goncourts,  443,  447  ;  spon- 
taneity, 439-441,  446  ;  subjec- 
tivity, 440  ;  novels  a  series  of 
pictures,  441  ;  method  of  collect- 
ing materials,  441-443  ;  impres- 
sionability and  sympathy,  443, 
445  ;  native  optimism,  444,  445  ; 


492 


Index. 


Daudet,  Alphonse — Con. 

as  poet,  445,  446  ;  method  of 
composition,  440,  441,  446,  447  ; 
style,  440,  447  ;  le  Petit  Chose, 
440 ;  From  ant  jeune  et  Risler 
aine,  442  ;  Jack,  444  ;  le  Nabab, 
444,  445  ;  Sapho,  445  ;  les  Amou- 
reuses,  445 

Decadents,  191,  208,  353,  478,  479 

Delille,  95,  96  ;  as  "  prince  of 
poetry,"  95  ;  his  didactic  poem, 
96  ;  followers,  96,  97  ;  les  Trois 
Rl'gnes,  96 

Delorme,  Joseph,  i85-iS8,  igo, 
284,  238,  382 

Delphine,  58 

Demosthenes,  77 

Descartes,  3,  15,  20,  26,  36,  317 

Determinism,  327-329,  337  ;  in 
Taine,  393  ;  in  Flaubert,  414 

Dictionary,  127 

Diderot,  23,  24,  35-41,  43-45,  52, 
74,  85,  91,  iiS,  134,  216  ;  as  ini- 
tiator of  Realism,  23,  35,  36  ; 
sense  of  Reality,  35  ;  liberality  of 
mind  and  heart,  37  ;  lack  of  dra- 
matic talent,  37  ;  subjectivity,  37, 
39  ;  serious  comedy  and  bourgeois 
tragedy,  38,  39,  40,  43  ;  moral 
preoccupation,  39  ;  substitutes  in- 
dividuals for  types,  39,  40  ;  lib- 
erty in  action  and  stage  setting, 
40,  41  ;  employs  prose,  41 

Dilettanteism,  478,  479  ;  see  Renan, 

397 

Don  Juan,  192,  202 

Drama  of  Romanticism,  214-239  ; 
initiators  of,  in  Diderot,  35-41, 
216;  and  Mercier,  41-44,  216; 
j^"^  Vigny,  94,  116,  117,  137,  217, 
222-224,  232,  233,  235,  236,  294  ; 
his  poetics,  217,  222-224  ;  com- 
pared with  Victor  Hugo's,  235  ; 
Chatterton  his  best  work,  235,  236  ; 
favors  drama  of  thought,  236 ; 
jif^  Victor  Hugo,  94,  95,  113,  114, 
215,  217,  220,  221,  224-226,  228, 
230-233,  235-238,  294,  448,  449, 
451  ;  poetics  of  Preface  to  Crom- 
7vell,  104,  105,  113,  114,  215,  217, 
221,  225,  237  ;  revolution  effected 
by  Hernani,  91,  93,  94.  451  :  aims 
to  unite  comic  and  tragic,  104, 
105,  113,  114,  2i3,  219,  227,  228, 
231,  232,  448,  449;  his  lyrical 
bias,  233,  234  ;  embodies  thoughts. 


234,  235  ;  falsifies  nature  by  vio- 
lence of  contrasts,  235  ;  failure 
of  les  Burgraves,  238,  448  ;  see 
Dumas,  43,  232,  236,  237  ;  fertil- 
ity, 236,  237 ;  historical  in  ex- 
teriors, 237  ;  appeals  to  curiosity, 
237  ;  Romanticism  substitutes  in- 
dividuals for  types,  219,  220,  227  ; 
abolishes  unities,  220-223,  228, 
231  ;  introduces  history  into 
theatre,  221  ;  multiplies  action 
and  characters,  224,  225,  228  ; 
admits  entire  vocabulary,  226 ; 
more  Classical  than  Realistic, 
228-230,  234  ;  employs  abstrac- 
tion and  idealization,  229,  230  ; 
always  conservative,  231  ;  a  juxta- 
position rather  than  union  of  ele- 
ments, 232  ;  decline  of,  237,  23S, 
334.  44S,  449 

Ducis,  90,  91,  93  ;  adapts  Shake- 
spearean drama,  go,  91  ;  Hamlet, 
90 ;  Macbeth,  90  ;  yean  sans 
Terre,  90  ;   Othello,  90 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  as  novelist,  294, 
296,  297,  436  ;  fertility,  296,  297  ; 
lack  of  historical  truth,  297,  436  ; 
further  faults,  297  ;  as  dramatist, 
43,  232,  236,  237,  294,  296,  449  ; 
fertility,  236,  237  ;  historical  only 
in  exterior  features,  237,  296  ; 
superficiality,  237  ;  appeals  solely 
to  curiosity,  237 ;  Henri  III., 
236  ;  Tour  de  Nesle,  i^i  ;  An- 
thony, 449 

Dumas  Jils,  Alexandre,    333,    451- 

465,    467-469,    472,    476,    477  ; 

revolution  brought  about  by  la 
Dame  aux  camelias,  451-453,  464, 
465  ;  introduces  Realism  into 
theatre,  452  ;  opposition  aroused, 

452,  453,  459;  innovations,  453, 
454 ;  technical  skill,  454-457  ;  logic 
his  master  faculty,  455-45  7;  style, 
333,  457,  458  ;  moral  preoccupa- 
tions, 458,  459  ;  drama  judged  as 
work  of  art,  459,  460;  characters 
symbolical,  460  ;  love  his  sole  in- 
spiration, 460,  461  ;  prostitution 
his  "monster,"  461,  462;  supe- 
riority of  man  over  woman,  462, 
463  ;  influence  over  Augier,  465  ; 
compared  with  Augier,  464-469, 
472  ;  la  Dame  aux  camiflias,  452, 

453,  455,  459,  46o.  461,  464,  465  ; 
Diane  de  Lys,  453,  455,  462  ;  le 


Index. 


49: 


Dumas  _/f/j,  Alexandre — Con. 

Demi-Monde,  333,  453,  459  ;  le 
Pere prodigue,  455  ;  ie  Fils  natu- 
rel,  455,  459  ;  I 'Ami  des  femmes, 
455>  463,  469 ;  la  Fcinme  de 
Claude,  460,  464  ;  V ^trangere, 
460,  462,  463  ;  la  Princess  Georges, 
462,  469  ;  Francillon,  461,  462 

Dussault,  85 

E 

Elee,  373 

Elegy,  in  Andre  Chenier,  50  ;  in 
pseudo-Classicism,  87,  88  ;  in 
Berlin  and  Parny,  154  ;  in  Lamar- 
tine,  88,  153-164  ;  in  Alfred  de 
Musset,  198  ;  in  Sainte-Beuve, 
186-1S8,  202  ;  in  Gautier,  202  ;  in 
Coppee,  381  ;  in  Daudet,  445 

Elvire,  153,  156 

Emile,  54 

Empire,  gr,  104,  105,  115,  118, 
126,  127,  271 

Encyclopaedia,  45 

Epopee,  Greek,  9  ;  Classic,  20  ;  in 
Chenier,  50;  in  Chateaubriand, 
75  ;  in  Victor  Hugo,  Notre-Dame 
de  Paris,  1 14,  296  ;  Le'gende  des 
Siecles,  341-343 

Esmenard,  48,  95 

Eudore,  106,  417 

Euripides,  6,  13,  77,  358 

Europeanism,  57 


Fauriel,  114 

Feletz,  85 

Fenelon,  130,  280  ;    T^Umaque,  135 

Feuillet,  Octave,  407-410 ;  first 
manner  idealistic,  407,  408  ; 
second  manner  Realistic,  408— 
410 ;    its    aristocratic    character, 

409  ;    dogmatic    tendencies,    409, 

410  ;  le  Roman  d'unjeune  homt?ie 
pauvre,  407  ;  Dalila,  408  ;  His- 
toire  de  Sibylle,  410  ;  la  Morte, 
410 

Flaubert,  Gustave,  81,  410-422  ; 
427,  428,  432,  443,  444;  brings 
about  revolution  in  novel,  410, 
422,  431  ;  Madame  Bovary,  first 
masterpiece  of  Realism,  410,411  ; 
Balzac  personal,  411  ;  originality 
of  Madame  Bovary,  41 1,  412  ;  ob- 
jectivity, 411-413  ;  unites  Roman- 
tic and  Realistic  art,  412  ;  as  Ro- 


manticist in  choice  of  subjects, 
416-418  ;  in  respect  to  form,  420- 
422  ;  a  Realist  in  method,  411- 
416  ;  subordinates  psychology  to 
physiology,  413,  414 ;  portrayal 
of  types  of  mediocrity,  414,  515  ; 
appearance  and  bearing,  416, 
417;  sensibility,  417;  classic 
qualities  of  Madame  Bovary,  414  ; 
a  satire  of  Romantic  spirit,  414 ; 
cult  for  form,  420-422  ;  Madatne 
Bovary,  410,  411,  415-419,  421, 
422,  431  ;  Education  sentimentale, 
415,  418  ;  Bouvard  et  Pecuchet, 
415  ;  Saldmmbo,  415-418  ;  la  Ten- 
tation  de  Saint  Antoine,  416-418  ; 
Herodias,  418  ;  Saint  Julien 
V Hospitalier,  418  ;  Un  cceur  sim- 
ple, 418,  420 

Florian,  44 

Flourens,  467 

Fontanes,  68,  88,  159 

Fox,  275 

Foy,  General,  258 

Fredegonde,  261 

Freret,  241 

Fronde,  the,  19,  85 

Funambulesques,  344 


Gaudissart,  315 

Gautier,  Theophile,  46,  120,  133- 
135,  148,  149,  184,  201-210,  238, 
339,  347-349.  353,  36S,  420,  421 ; 
as  leader  of  art  for  art,  184,  201, 
208,  209,  347,  368  ;  cult  for  plas- 
tic beauty,  46,  120,  206,  347  ;  dis- 
ciple  of   Victor    Hugo    in    form, 

201,  202,  347  ;  influences  of  Sainte- 
Beuve  and  Musset,  201,  202; 
superficiality  of  thought,  202, 
203,  209  ;  sensibility,  203,  204 ; 
fear  of  death,  204,  205  ;  love  of 
the  beautiful,  206  ;  paganism, 
206,  347  ;  at  best  in  reproducing 
appearances,  202,  207 ;  cult  for 
words,  207,  208  ;  as  renovator  of 
language  and  versification,  133, 
134,  148,  149,  208-210,  320;  in- 
fluence upon  Banville,  347  ;  upon 
Baudelaire,   349,    353  ;   Albertus, 

202,  205,  207,  349  ;  Comedie  de  la 
niort,  202,  205  ;  Emaux  et  Cam^es, 

203,  204,  209,  347  ;  Ponies  di- 
verses,  203 


494 


hidex. 


Gavarni,  2S9 

Gayot,  Causes  C/lebres,  42 

Geoffroy,  85,  276 

Gessner,  60 

Gilbert,  169 

Gil-Bias,  86 

Globe,  137,  216,  272 

Gliickist,  100 

Goethe,  115,  121 

Goncourts,  Edmond  and  Jules,  420, 
422-431,  438.  442,  443.  447; 
tardy  popularity  and  influence, 
422,  431  ;  early  historiographical 
studies,  422,  423  ;  their  applica- 
tion of  Realistic  method,  423, 
424;  "modern"  and  "particu- 
lar," 424 ;  the  novel  contempo- 
rary history,  424,  425  ;  a  work  of 
exact  science,  425,  426 ;  not 
adapted  to  theatre,  426  ;  aim  to 
reduce  action,  426,  427  ;  abnor- 
mal impressionability,  487,  443  ; 
originality  of  style,  42S,  429,  431  ; 
compared  with  Flaubert,  428  ; 
with  Zola,  433  ;  with  Daudet,  443, 
447  ;  the  convicts  of  the  book, 
429,  430 ;  works  confined  to 
modernity,  430,  431  ;  method  of 
incorporating  materials,  423,  424, 
427,  429,  430 ;  decadent  tastes 
dangerous  to  language,  431,  538  ; 
Germi?iie  Lacerteux,  422,  424— 
426,  431  ;  Scetir  Philomene,  422  ; 
Chhie,  424-426 ;  Madame  Ger- 
vaisais,  425  ;  Rpiee  Mauperin, 
425 ;  la  Fille  £lisa,  425,  426 ; 
les  Freres  Zemgatnno,  425  ;  Fans- 
tin,  4.2$ 

Gottsched,  60 

Gudin,  97 

Guiraud,  92  ;  Cotnte  yulien,  92 

Guizot,  250-253,  336  ;  renovates 
history  by  philosophy,  250  ;  four 
primitive  factors,  250  ;  method 
defined,  451  ;  defects  of  his  gen- 
eralizations, 251,  252  ;  gives  his- 
tory a  solid  foundation,  252  ;  in 
narration,  252  ;  style,  253 


H 


HeloTse,  29 
Helvetius,  307 
Henry  IV.,  2,  3 

Heredia,   Jose-Marie  de,    362-364 ; 
compared  with  Malherbe  in  tech- 


nical skill,  262,  264,  265  ;  dis- 
ciple of  Leconte  de  Lisle,  363  ; 
treatment  of  the  sonnet,  363  ; 
admits  only  sentiment  for  the 
beautiful,  363  ;  always  Spanish 
in  inspiration,  364  ;  objectivity, 
364,  365  ;  les  Trophees,  368  ;  les 
Conqu^ratits ,  364  ;  la  Dogaresse, 
364  ;  Floridum  mare,  364 ;  le 
Dahnio,  364 ;  le  Samourai,  364 

History,  of  Classicism,  18-20,  240, 
242,  249,  250  ;  of  Romanticism, 
242-266,  292,  336  ;  for  descrip- 
tive, see  Thierry,  243-247  ;  for 
narrative,  see  Barante,  248,  249  ; 
for  philosophical,  see  Guizot,  250- 
253  ;  also  Mignet,  253-256  ;  for 
details,  see  Thiers,  257-260  ;  for 
poetic,  see  Michelet,  260-266  ;  of 
Realism,  336,  337 

Hoffman,  85 

Homer,  6,  9,  10,  47,  75,  268,  274, 
358  ;  Iliad,  6,  75 

Horace,  5 

Hugo,  Victor,  as  poet,  46,  48,  81, 
99,  104,  106,  109,  no,  112,  113, 
117,  150,  166,  173-184,  201,  202, 
324.  339-348,  353,  355,  365,  366, 
376,  38 1  ;  in  his  antecedents,  see 
Chenier,  46 ;  see  Chateaubriand, 
81,  180;  see  Vigny,  166;  first 
period  ;  classic  spirit  of  Odes, 
174,  175  ;  medieval  spirit  of  Bal- 
lades, 112,  175  ;  les  Orie7ttales  re- 
veal plastic  resources,  176  ;  greater 
depth  of  les   Feuilles  d^automne, 

176,  177  ;  similar  inspiration  of 
les  Chants  du  crepusctde,  les  voix 
intt'rieures,  and  les  Rayons  et  les 
Ombres,  i"]"],  178;  second  period  : 
les  Chatime7its  retaliate  against 
Realism,  340 ;  maturity  in  les 
Contemplations ,  340,  341  ;  la 
L^gende  an  epopee  of  progress, 
341-343  ;  early  vocation,  173,  174, 
conception  of  nature,  no,  176, 
178  ;  of  Christianity,  104,  182, 
342  ;    melancholy,  106,   109,  no, 

177,  178;  optimism,  178,  341, 
342,346;    equilibrium,    179,   181, 

182,  344-346  ;  objective  and  sub- 
jective, 106,  174,  180,  181  ;  con- 
ception of  poetic  vocation,  179, 
180  ;    moral  preoccupations,   182, 

183,  346  ;  continued  fertility.  173, 
174.    343.   344  ;    historical    sense. 


Index. 


495 


Hugo,  Victor — Con. 

342,  343,  345  ;  primitive  character, 
344,  345  ;  magician  rather  than 
philosopher,  345  ;  renovates  lan- 
guage and  versification,  128,  131, 
133,  137-139.  141.  148,  149.  176, 
179,  I  So,  320  ;  in  his  followers,  see 
Gautier,  201,  202,  347;  schools, 
344  ;  see  de  Lisle,  353,  355  ;  see 
Coppee,    381  ;    Odes   et  Ballades^ 

112,  113,  174,  175  ;  Orientales, 
176,  177,  182  344  ;  Feuilles  d'au- 
tomne,  176,  177,  341  ;  Chants  du 
trepusctcle,  177,  178  ;  voix  intd- 
rieures,  178  ;  les  Rayons  et  les  Om- 
bres^ 174,  178;  les  Chdtiments ,  340, 

343,  344  ;  les  Contemplations,  340, 
341,  344  ;  la  Legende  des  slides, 
166,  341-344,  355,  381  ;  r Annee 
terrible,  343,  344  ;  Toute  la  lyre, 
344  ;  as  dramatist,  94,  T04,  105, 
114,  215,  217,  218,  220,  221, 
224-226,  228,  230-233,  235,  237, 
238,  294,  448,  449,  451  ;  poetics 
of  Preface  to  Cronnvell,  104,  105, 

113,  113-115,  217,  220,  221,  225, 
237  ;  revolution  effected  by  Her- 
nani,  91,  93,  94,  451  ;  aims  to 
supplement  Corneille  by  Moliere, 
218,  448  ;  introduces  history  into 
drama,  221,  225  ;  abolishes  unities, 
224,  225  ;  employs  a  new  lan- 
guage, 226  ;  conser\'atism,  230, 
231  ;  lyrical  bias,  233,  234  ;  em- 
bodies thoughts,  234,  235  ;  falsi- 
fies nature  by  violence  of  con- 
trasts, 235  ;  failure  of  les  Bur- 
graves,  238,  448  ;  Cromwell,  225  ; 
Hernani,  91,  93,  94,  20 r,  218, 
232,  334,  451  ;  le  Roi  s' amuse, 
Lucrece  Borgia,  Marie  Tudor, 
Angela,  234 ;  Ruy  Bias,  234, 
344;  as  novelist,  114,  295,  296, 
406,  407  ;  Notre-Dame  de  Paris 
an  epopee  of  Gothic  art,  114, 
175,  295,  296  ;  its  symbolic 
character,  114,  296 

Hume,  28 
Hypatia,  358 


Idealism,  of  Classicism,  10-15,  18, 
19 ;  in  tragedy,  218-220,  223, 
224,  227,  334  ;  of  Romanticism, 
introduced  by  Rousseau,  36,  291  ; 


in  poetry,  106,  107  ;  see  Hugo, 
Lamartine,  Musset,  Vigny  ;  in 
drama,  230,  334  ;  see  Hugo, 
Vigny  ;  in  criticism,  see  Nizard, 
277,  278  ;  in  novel,  291,  292  ;  see 
George  Sand,  297-301,  304,  407  ; 
see  Feuillet,  407,  408  ;  Romantic 
idealization  of  the  spiritual,  321, 
322,  324,  325,  332,  414,  415  ;  de- 
cline of,  82,  308,  327,  329  ;  Real- 
istic idealization  of  the  material, 
327,  32S  ;  introduced  into  poetry 
by  Sainte-Beuve,  1S7,  188  ;  by 
Gautier,  207-210  ;  see  Manuel,  and 
Coppee  ;  see  Parnassians ;  see  Le- 
conte  de  Lisle  and  Sully  Pru- 
dhomme  ;  see  Banville  and  Baude- 
laire ;  in  criticism,  see  Sainte- 
Beuve  and  Taine  ;  introduced  into 
novel  by  Stendhal  and  Merimee, 
306-311  ;  by  Balzac,  312-318  ;  see 
Flaubert,  412,  416,  419  ;  seeXo^d., 
433-435.  437  ;  in  Daudet,  as  sep- 
arated from  Realistic  idealism, 
444-446  ;  also  in  Renan,  396,  397, 
399  ;  in  theatre,  see  Dumas,  460, 
461,  463  ;  decline  of  Realistic 
idealism,    475,    479 

J 

Jacobins,  242 
Jansenists,  16 
Jesuitism,  16 
Jomini,  General,  258 
Joubert,  132,  164 
Jouffroy,  289 
Julie,  25,  29,  54 
Jussieu,  287 

L 

La  Bruyere,  7,  16 

La  Fontaine,  6,  7,  14 

La  Harpe,  85,  270,  274-276  ;    Phi- 
loctete,  11^ 

Lamartine,  36,  45,  46,  88,  105,  106, 
109,  no,  116,  150,  153-T64,  166, 
174,  179,  181,  184,  339,  368,  371, 
376;  precedes  Beranger,  153; 
rapid  growth  of  fame,  153,  154  ; 
early  imitation  of  Bertin  and 
Parny,  153,  154 ;  late  vocation, 
154;  antipathy  for  Byron  and 
Chenier,  46,  155  ;  influences  of 
Rousseau  and  Saint- Pierre,  155 
156  ;  of  Madame  de  Stael  and 
Chateaubriand,  156  ;  spontaneity, 


496 


Index. 


Lamartine — Con. 

156,  163,  174,  179,  371  ;  effect  of 
Meditations,    157  ;    their  novelty, 

157.  158  ;  his  primitive  character, 
153,  158  ;  frees  poetry  from  scho- 
lastic rules,  1 58  ;  progress  in  Nou- 
velles  Meditations  and  Harmonies, 
159;  decline  after  yocelyn,  159, 
160  ;  idealism,  160,  166  ;  optimism 
109,  160,  161  ;  melancholy,  109, 
156,  160,  184 ;  early  education, 
156,  161 ;  shallow  sensibility,  162  ; 
subjectivity,    106,  156,   158,  162, 

163  ;  conception  of  nature,  no, 
163 ;  improvisor  and  amateur, 
163,  164  ;  dislike  of  effort,  164  ; 
defects  of  style,  164  ;  MMitations, 
153-155,  157-160,  164;  Har- 
?nonies,  155,  160,  164  ;  Noiivelles 
Mt'ditations,    159  ;    jocelyn,    159, 

164  ;  Chute  d'un  ange,  166 
Language,  of  Classicism,    20,   124- 

127,  130,  135-137  ;  see  Ronsard, 
125,  128  ;  see  Malherbe,  125,  128  ; 
see  Vaugelas,  126,  129,  130  ;  see 
P.  Bouhours,  126,  129  ;  see  Marot, 
128  ;  see  Sainte-Gelais,  12S  ;  see 
Amyot,  130;  see  Fenelon,  130; 
Buffon,  135  ;  Diderot  and  Rous- 
seau, 134;  ^t?£?  Voltaire,  127,  129, 

136  ;    of    pseudo-Classicism,    94, 

127,  128,  135-137  ;  of  Romanti- 
cism,   128-138  ;   see  Chenier,  47, 

165  ;  see  Chateaubriand,  80,  81, 
132,  133,   135  ;  see  Victor   Hugo, 

128,  131-133,  137,  138,  174,  175, 
179,  320,  344,  347  ;  see  Sainte- 
Beuve,  189  ;  see  Gautier,  133-135, 
207,  208,  210,  220 ;  see  Balzac, 
320  ;  of  Realism,  333,  475  ;  see 
Parnassians,  368,  369 ;  see  Sully 
Prudhomme,  377  ;  see  Coppee, 
378  ;  see  Renan,  405  ;  see  Flau- 
bert, 421  ;  see  the  Goncourts,  428, 
429,  431  ;  see  Zola,  438  ;  see  Dau- 
det,  446,  447  ;  see  Dumas  yf/j',  457 

Lebrun,  Pierre,  87,  89,  92,  93,  136, 

137  ;  as  poet,  87  ;  as  dramatist, 
89,  92,  93,  136,  137  ;  Marie 
Stuart,  89,  92,  93,  136,  137  ;  le 
Cid d' Andalousie ,  92,  94,  137 

Lemaistre,  102 

Lemercier,  Nepomucene,  91,  93,  94  ; 
Pinto,  Christophe  Colomb,  91,  93, 
94  ;  Cours  de  litttfrature,  91 

Lemierre,  48 


Ligue,  19,  85 

Lisle,  Leconte  de,  8r,  120,  353- 
363,  365,  368,  370,  378  ;  influ- 
ences of  Chateaubriand,  Hugo, 
and  Vigny,  80,  120,  353,  355, 
360  ;  as  historian,  353,  355,  360  ; 
condemns  subjectivity,  354,  355  ; 
aesthetics,  120,  353-356,  358,  359  ; 
native  Buddhism,  356-358,370; 
beauty  symbol  of  impassive  hap- 
piness, 358  ;  decadence  of  Greek 
arti  358  ;  style,  359,  360  ;  subject- 
ive in  spite  of  effort,  360,  361  ; 
unpopularity,  361  ;  pessimism, 
360-362 ;  considered  in  follow- 
ers, in  Parnassians,  354,  365,  368  ; 
in  Heredia,  362,  363  ;  in  Sully 
Prudhomme,  370  ;  in  Coppee, 
378 ;  Pohnes  antiques,  Polmes 
barbares,  363 

Livy,  Titus,  23S 

Louis,  Saint,  19 

Louis  XIV.,  3,  15,  16,  19,  22,  23, 
61,  84,  127,  241,  268,  271 

Lucretius,  374 

Luther,  226,  263 

Lyricism,  of  pseudo-Classicism,  87, 
88;  of  Romanticism,  104-112,  153- 
214,  291,  322,  324,  325,  332,  334, 
475  ;  as  foreshadowed  by  Chenier, 
44-51  ;  by  Rousseau,  Madame  de 
Stael,  and  Chateaubriand,  62,  106, 
291,  339  ;  in  Lamartine,  153-164  ; 
in  Vigny,  165-173,  235,  236  ;  in 
Victor  Hugo,  173-183,  233,  234; 
in  Sainte-Beuve,  184-191  ;  in 
Musset,  191-201  ;  in  Gautier, 
201-210;  in  Barbier,  210,  211; 
in  Brizeux,  211-213;  evident  in 
Michelet,  263-266  ;  evident  in 
George  Sand,  297,  298  ;  decline 
of,  322,  324,  325,  332,  475  ;  in 
Realistic  period,  see  Banville, 
346-349 


M 


Mably,  242 

Machiavellism,  352 

Malady  of  the  Century,  28,  108,  478 

Malherbe,    2,    3,    47,    48,    85,    125, 

128,  133,  138,  139,  141,  142,  146- 

148,  268,  362,  364  ;  Odes,  362 
Manuel,     Eugene,      365-36S,     381, 

382  ;  originality,    365,    366,    381  ; 

familiar   and   popular,    366,  367 ; 


hidex. 


497 


Manuel,  Eugene — Con. 

sincerity,  367,  368  ;  les  Pages  in- 
times,  365-367  ;  les  Poetries  popu- 
laires,  365-367  ;  En  voyage. 
Pendant  laguerre,  V  Ascension, 
la  Veillee  du  niMecin,  la  Priere 
des  folks,  367 ;  drama  :  les 
Ouvriers,  367 

Manzoni,   216 

Marchangy  83 

Mardoche,  193,  iqs,  200 

Marot,  128 

Martin,  Aimee,  97 

Materialism  in  poetry,  of  Romantic 
period,  form,  see  Victor  Hugo, 
176,  182,  347  ;  subject  and  form, 
see  Sainte-Beuve,  184-igi  ;  see 
Gautier,  207-210,  347  ;  of  Real- 
istic period,  333,  334  ;  see  Ban- 
ville  and  Baudelaire,  347-353  ; 
see  Leconte  de  Lisle,  354,  359  ; 
Heredia,  362-365  ;  Parnassians, 
368,  369  ;  Sully  Prudhomme,  372, 
373  ;  Coppee,  378  ;  in  novel,  335, 
336 ;  introduced  by  Stendhal, 
304-309  ;  see  Balzac,  313-315  ; 
see  Flaubert,  414,  415  ;  see  Zola, 
436-438 

Melancholy  of  Romanticism,  see 
Pessimism 

Mercier,  41-44,  85,  216  ;  influence 
of  Diderot,  41,  43  ;  condemns 
Classic  styles,  41,  42  ;  replaces 
antiquity  by  contemporary  reality, 

42,  43  ;  considered  in  his  followers, 

43,  44 ;  Essai  stir  Part  dra- 
tnatique,  41 

Mercure,  68 

Merimee,  308,  309-311,  315,  332  ; 
influence  of  Stendhal,  309 ;  as 
initiator  of  Realism,  308,  332  ; 
appreciation  of  real,  309  ;  imper- 
sonality and  conservatism,  310, 
315  ;  artistic  style,  310,  311  ;  la 
Chronique  de  Charles  IX. ,  309  ; 
Colnmba,  310,  31 1 

Mesmer,  312 

Mezerai,  241 

Michelet,  260-266,  336,  400 ;  power 
of  divination,  260,  261,  265,  266  ; 
erudition,  261  ;  early  vocation, 
261  ;  sense  of  life,  261,  262  ;  sym- 
pathy, 262,  263  ;  subjectivity, 
263-265  ;  defects  of  style,  264, 
265  ;  influence  over  Renan,  400  ; 
Histoire  de  France,  400 


Middle  Ages,  antipathy  for,  in  Classi- 
cism, 7,  8,  112  ;  sympathy  for,  in 
Romanticism,  112,  113,  128  ;  in 
Chateaubriand,  75,  76,  112;  in 
Victor  Hugo,  113,  114,  175,  296, 
297  ;  in  Gautier,  347 

Mignet,  253-257,  336  ;  method 
philosophical,  253,  254,  257,  336; 
in  P Histoire  de  la  Revolution  and 
N^gociaiions  relatives  a  la  succes- 
sion d'Espagne,  254  ;  strictly  his- 
torical works,  254,  255  ;  pufall  of 
philosophical  history,  255,  256; 
makes  history  science  and  art,  256  ; 
style,  256  ;  P Histoire  de  la  Revo- 
lution, 254,  255  ;  Negociations 
relatives  a  la  succession  d'Espagne, 

254 

Millet,  373 

Millevoie,  87,  154 

Milton,  169,  275 

Minerve,  157 

Mithridates,  218 

"  Moderns,"  5,  15,  267,  268 

Moliere,  11,  14,  117,  218,  459, 
466,  473  ;  I  Avar e,  473  ;  les 
Femmes  savantes,  459  ;    Tartuffe, 

473 

Monarchism,  331 

Montesquieu,  240 

Morellet,  157 

Moses,  106,  168,  170,  360 

Musset,  Alfred  de,  45,  105-107,  109, 
117,  120,  166,  181,  184,  igi-202, 
204,  339,  368,  370,  371.  449.  466  ; 
poet  of  youth,  191  ;  and  early  de- 
cline, 192,  193, 199,  339  ;  as  artist, 
193,  196  ;  love  his  sole  inspira- 
tion, 194,  197-199  ;  greatness  and 
weakness,  194,  195  ;  lack  of  in- 
ventive power,  195  ;  in  religious 
aspect,  45,  105,  195,  200  ;  affec- 
tations, 196 ;  transition  period, 
196,  197  ;  subjectivity,  106,  107, 
117,  197  ;  divines  passion,  197  ; 
consecrates  sorrow,  197,  198  ; 
love  the  sole  good,  198-200 ; 
struggle  between  love  and  de- 
bauch, 199  ;  limitations,  200,  201  ; 
Comedies,  Fantasio,  On  ne  badine 
pas  av>'c  Vamour,  449 

Mysticism,  in  Diderot,  36  ;  in  Vigny, 
165  ;  in  Sainte-Beuve,  186  ;  in 
George  Sand,  298  ;  in  Baudelaire, 
350.  351  ;  it^  decline  of  Realism, 
476,  477 


498 


Index. 


N 


Nanteuil,  Celestin,  238 

Napoleon,  94,  102,  226,  242 

Naturalism,  introduced  by  Diderot, 
23,  35,  36  ;  in  criticism,  see  Sainte- 
Beuve,  284-287,  385-387  ;  in 
the  novel,  see  Flaubert,  417  ;  see 
the  Goncourts,  426,  431,  432  ;  see 
Zola,  432,  439,  ;  in  the  theatre, 
426,  456,  476,  477 

Nature,  in  Classicism,  13-15,  29, 
121  ;  in  precursors  of  XlXth  cen- 
tury, see  Rousseau,  29-31,  iii  ; 
see  Bernardin,  34,  35,  76,  iii  ; 
see  Chenier,  49,  50  ;  see  Madame 
de  Stael,  63,  64  ;  see  Chateau- 
briand, 35,  64,  76-78,  III,  305, 
416  ;  in  Romanticism,  109-111;  see 
Lamartine,  iio,  163  ;  Victor 
Hugo,  no,  176,  178  ;  Gautier, 
207  ;  George  Sand,  300,  305,  306 

Neo- Hellenism,  119 

Neo-mysticism,  478,  479 

Neo-Romanticism,  46 

Nihilism,  360 

Nizard,  277-281,  282;  idealistic, 
didactic  method,  277,  278  ;  triple 
ideal,  278  ;  criticism  a  philosophy, 
278,  279 ;  confined  to  French 
masterpieces,  279,  280  ;  resistance 
and  coercion,  280,  381 

Novel,  as  considered  by  Classicism, 
292  ;  of  Romantic  period,  291- 
320  ;  subjective  as  introduced  by 
Rousseau,  Madame  de  Stael,  and 
Chateaubriand,  291,  292  ;  histori- 
cal as  introduced  by  Vigny,  Hugo, 
and  Dumas,  292-297  ;  Idealistic, 
see  George  Sand,  297-306  ;  see 
Feuillet's  first  manner,  407,  408  ; 
Realistic  as  introduced  by  Sten- 
dhal, 306-30S  ;  by  Merimee,  309- 
311  ;  by  Balzac,  3 1 1-320  ;  of  Real- 
istic period,  406-447  ;  Realistic 
influences  in  Victor  Hugo  and 
George  Sand,  406,  407  ;  in  Feuil- 
let's second  manner,  408-410  ;  see 
Flaubert,  410-422  ;  see  the  Gon- 
courts, 422-431  ;  see  Zola,  432- 
439  ;  see  Daudet,  439-447 


O 


Oberman,  70-72,  108 

Objectivity,  of  Classicism,  11-13  ;  of 


precursors  of  XlXth  century,  sec 
Diderot  and  Chenier  ;  see  Madame 
de  Stael,  53,  56  ;  Chateaubriand, 
70  ;  of  Romantic  period,  for  po- 
etry, see  Victor  Hugo,  106,  174, 
180,  181  ;  see  Vigny,  170,  360, 
376  ;  see  Gautier,  207-210  ;  for 
novel,  see  Balzac,  Merimee,  Sten- 
dhal ;  of  Realistic  period,  326-338  ; 
for  poetry,  see  Leconte  de  Lisle, 
Parnassians,  Sully  Frudhomme 
(scientific) ;  see  Baudelaire  and 
Banville  ;  see  Heredia  ;  see  Cop- 
pee  and  Manuel  ;  in  novel,  see 
Daudet,  Flaubert,  the  Goncourts, 
and  Zola 

Ode  of  Classicism,  20,  362  ;  of 
pseudo-Classicism,  87,  88  ;  of 
Romanticism,  see  Victor  Hugo, 
174,  175,  215 

Optimism,  of  Classicism,  21,  108  ; 
of  precursors  of  XlXth  century, 
in  Diderot,  39  ;  in  Chenier,  44, 
45  ;  in  Madame  de  Stael,  53,  55, 
56  ;  in  Lamartine,  109,  160,  161  ; 
in  Hugo,  178,  341,  342,  346;  also 
Banville,  Heredia,  and  Manuel  ; 
in  George  Sand,  299,  300,  305  ; 
in  Daudet,  444,  445 

Ossian,  155 


Pantheism,  Greek,  10 

Parnassians,  365,  368,  369,  372,  378, 

379,  381 

Parny,  154,  155 

Pastoral,  in  Andre  Chenier,  50 

Patin,  190 

Pericles,  119 

Perrault,  6,  18 

Pessimism,  in  Rousseau,  27,  28,  54  ; 
in  Madame  de  Stael,  56,  63  ;  in 
Chateaubriand,  53,  67  ;  also  Rene, 
70-72,  108  ;  in  Senancour's 
Oberman,  ']0-']2,  108;  Romanti- 
cism, 106-109,  329.  333.  478  ;  ii^ 
Lamartine,  105,  109,  160-162  ; 
in  Musset,  105,  106,  109,  197- 
200  ;  in  Vigny,  109,  168,  170, 
184,  236,  332,  339 ;  in  Victor 
Hugo,  106,  109-177,  178,  340; 
in  Christianity,  107,  loS  ;  in 
Sainte-Beuve's  Joseph  Delorme, 
184-186,  189  ;  in  Gautier,  204, 
205,  347  ;  in  Barbier,  2Ti  ;  Real- 
ism, 340,  478  ;  in  Baudelaire,  350- 


Index. 


499 


Pessimism — Con. 

352  ;  in  Leconte  de  Lisle,  356- 
360,  362  ;  in  Sully  Prudhomme, 
369,  370,  376  ;  in  Coppee,  379, 
380,  382;  in  Flaubert,  417;  in 
Zola,   437,   439  ;    in   Dumas  Jils, 

463 

Petronius,  190,  352 

Philippe-Auguste,  19 

Philosophy,  of  Classicism,  4,  17,  20, 
21,  29,  33,  45  ;  of  Romanticism, 
103-106,  325  ;  see  Madame  de 
Stael,  53-55  ;  see  Chateaubriand, 
67  ;  see  Vigny,  172,  173  ;  see 
Musset,  195  ;  see  Gautier,  202  ;  see 
Victor  Hugo,  341,  342,  345  ;  of 
Realism,  326-330  ;  see  Leconte  de 
Lisle,  356,  357  ;  see  Sully  Prud- 
homme, 370-376  ;  in  criticism,  see 
Nizard,  277-279  ;  see  Taine,  387- 
396  ;  in  history,  see  Guizot,  249- 
253  ;  see  Mignet,  253-256 

Piccinist,  100 

Pindar,  9,  136  ;  Odes,  g 

Poetry,  Classic  period,  2,  4,  5,  63  ; 
of  pseudo-Classicism,  87-89,  95- 
97  ;  of  Romantic  period  (prefigured 
by  Andre  Chenier,  46-48,  50,  51), 
104-123,  333,  475  ;  see  Beranger, 
150—153  ;  see  Lamartine,  153-165  ; 
see  Vigny,  165-173  ;  see  Hugo, 
173-183  ;  see  Sainte-Beuve,  184- 
191  ;  see  Musset,  191-201  ;  see 
Gautier,  201-210;  see  Barbier, 
210,  211;  see  Brizeux,  211-213; 
of  Realistic  period,  332-334,  475  ; 
see  Hugo,  339-346  ;  see  Banville, 
347-349 ;     see    Baudelaire,     349- 

353  ;  see  Leconte  de  Lisle,  353- 
362  ;  sec  Heredia,  362-365  ;  see 
Manuel,  365-368  ;  see  Parnassians, 
368,  369  ;  see  Sully  Prudhomme, 
369-378;  j^^  Coppee,  153-164 

Pompignan,  23,  139 
Ponsard,    158,   238,   239,  466  ;  Lu- 
crke,  238,  466  ;  Charlotte  Corday, 

239 
Positivism,  327,  328,  337,  338,  374, 

385,  387,  399 
Pleiade,    i,   2,  48,    125,    128,    141  ; 

language  of,  i,  2,  125,  128  ;  poetic 

styles  of,  2,  48,  128,  138,  141 
Plutarch,  24,  126 
Propertius,  45 
Prudhomme,    Sully,    366,    369-378, 

380  ;    Parnassian  influence,    369, 


372  ;  conception  of  poetry,  369  ; 
compared  with  Leconte  de  Lisle, 
370;  with  Musset,  370,  371  ;  with 
Lamartine,  371,  376;  with  Victor 
Hugo,  376  ;  with  Vigny,  376  ;  with 
Coppee,  380  ;  exalts  action,  370, 
371  ;  personal,  371  ;  accord  be- 
tween poetry  and  science,  372- 
374 ;  dialogue  between  Seeker 
and  Voice,  375  ;  antagonism  be- 
tween Heart  and  Reason,  375, 
376  ;  style,  369,  372,  377  ;  Stances 
et  Poemes,  366  ;  la  Vie  inte'rieure, 
366,  377,  380;  la  Justice,  370, 
374,  375.  377  ;  l^s  Ecuries  d'Au- 
gias,  373  ;  le  Rendez-votts,  373  ;  le 
Zenith,  373  ;  le  Bonkeur,  377 
Pseudo-Classicism,  84-98  ;  character 
and  duration  of,  84,  85,  97,  98; 
criticism  of,  85-87  ;  269,  270, 
272  ;  poetry  of,  87-89,  95-97 ; 
comedy  of,  88  ;  tragedy  of,  88-95  ; 
language  of,  94,  127,  128,  135- 
137 


Quinault,  Mademoiselle,  33 
Quinet,  202 
Quintillian,  6 


R 


Rabelais,  315 

Racine,  Jean,  4,  6,  8,  11,  13,  16, 
18,  43,  48,  57,  74,  80,  85,  100, 
116,  117,  128,  133,  135,  137, 
142,  144,  217,  223-225,  274; 
Athalie,  4,  16,  135,  137  ;  Britan- 
nicus,  7,  143,  144,  223 

Racine,  Louis,  95 

Rambouillet,  Marquise  de,  14 

Rapin,  Father,  241 

Raynouard,  89,  92  ;  les  Templiers, 
89,  92    .   .  _ 

Realism,  initiators  of,  see  Diderot, 
23,  35-41  ;  Sainte-Beuve,  184- 
191,  281-290  ;  Stendhal,  306-309  ; 
Merimee,   309-311  ;  Balzac,  311- 

320,  450,  451  ;  evolution  of,  321- 
338  ;   duration   and    character  of, 

321,  322  ;  philosophy  of,  326- 
332  ;  poetry  of,  332-334,  475  :  ^^e 
Victor  Hugo,  339-346  ;  see  Ban- 
ville, 347-349  ;  see  Baudelaire, 
349-353  ;  see  Leconte  de  Lisle, 
353-362  ;   see  Heredia,   362-365  ; 


500 


Index. 


Realism — Con. 
see  Manuel,  365-368  ;  Parnassians, 

368,  369  ;  see  Sully  Prudhomme, 
369-378 ;  see  Coppee,  378-384  ; 
theatre  of,  334.  335,  448-474, 
476,  477  ;  see  Alexandre  Dumas 
Jils,  451-464;  see  Augier,  464- 
473  ;  see  Sardou,  473,  474  ;  novel 
of,  335,  336  ;  ^^^  Octave  Feuillet, 
408-410;  see  Flaubert,  410-422; 
see  the  Goncourts,  422-431  ;  see 
Zola,  432-439  ;  see  Daudet,  439- 
447  ;  criticism  of,  337,  338,  385- 
405  ;  see  Sainte-Beuve,  385-387  ; 
see  Taine,  387-396 ;  see  Renan, 
396-405  ;  history  of,  336,  337 ; 
conception  of  art,   327,  333,  368, 

369,  479 ;  heroes  of,  336,  337 ; 
language  of,  333,  334,  368,  369 

Regnier,  196 

Remusat,  215 

Renaissance,  5,  140 

Renan,  396-405  ;  contrasted  with 
Taine,  396  ;  sympathy,  369,  397, 
401  ;  dilettantism,  397,  402,  403  ; 
tolerance,  397  ;  idealism,  397- 
399  ;  sense  of  divinity,  398  ;  scep- 
ticism, 398,  399,  402  ;  analysis, 
398,  399 ;  as  critic,  399,  402,  403  ; 
influence  of  Michelet,  410 ;  as 
historian,  400-402  ;  as  artist,  402- 
404 ;  style,  404,  405  ;  Vie  de 
Jesiis,  404 

Rene,  70-72,  106,  108,  no,  291, 
417,    420_ 

Republicanism,  331 

Restoration,  92,  99,  136 

Revolution,  55,  56,  85,  lOi,  105, 
118,  127,  128,  215,  471 

Rhyme,  in  Ronsard  and  thePleiade, 
141  ;  in  Classicism,  140,  141  ;  in 
Romanticism,  140,  141  ;  see  Victor 
Hugo,  141,  179;  see  Lamar- 
tine,  164  ;  see  Sainte-Beuve,  189  ; 
see  Musset,  193  ;  see  Gautier, 
210 ;  in  Realism,  333,  343  ;  see 
Banville,  34S,  349  ;  see  Heredia, 
362  ;  in  Parnassians,  368  ;  see 
Sully  Prudhomme,  372 

Rhythm,  in  Ronsard  and  the  Pleiade, 
138,  140;  in  Classicism,  13S,  139, 
141-146  ;  see  Malherbe,  138,  142, 
146  ;  see  Boileau,  142,  146  ;  see 
Racine,  142,  144,  145  ;  in  Ro- 
manticism, 139,  143-147  ;  see 
Victor  Hugo,   139,  148,  176,  179, 


341,  347,  347 ;  see  Lamartine, 
164 ;  see  Gautier,  148,  210  ;  in 
Parnassians,  369 ;  see  Heredia, 
363  ;  see  Coppee,  378  ;  of  prose, 
see  Cliateaubriand,  80  ;  see  Flau- 
bert,   421  ;     see    the    Goncourts, 

429,   431 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  202 

Rivarol,  136 

Robespierre,  137 

Romancero,  117 

Romanticism,  initiators  of,  see  Rous- 
seau, 23-34  ;  see  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre,  34,  35  ;  see  Andre 
Chenier,  44-51  ;  see  Madame  de 
Stael,  52-67  ;  see  Chateaubriand, 
67-83,  99-123  ;  origin  and  adop- 
tion of  word,  99-101,  112  ;  dura- 
tion and  character  of,  297,  321- 
325  ;  Spiritualism  of,  27,  34,  loi- 
105,  327-329  ;  subjectivity  of,  25, 
105-107,  325  ;  Pessimism  of,  28, 
106-109,  329,  333,  478  ;  sentiment 
for  nature,  109-111  ;  spontaneity 
of,  III,  112;  sympathy  for  Mid- 
dle Ages,  112-114;  for  Hellenic 
tradition,  119,  120;  English  and 
German  influences,  100,  114-118, 
275,  276;  conception  of  art,  46, 
118-123,  323-325  ;  heroes  of, 
329  ;  poetry  of,  104-123, 150-213. 
333,  475  ;  ^^^  Lamartine,  153- 
164;  j-^^  Vigny,  165-173  ;  Victor 
Hugo,  173-183  ;  j-f^  Sainte-Beuve, 
184-191  ;  see  Musset,  191-200; 
see  Gautier,  201-210  ;  see  Barbier, 
210,  211  ;  see  Briseux,  211— 213  ; 
drama  of,  94,  95,  113,  114,  150, 
214-239,  334,  448,  449,  451  ;  see 
Victor  Hugo,  94,  95,  113,  114, 
215,  216,  220,  221,  224-226,  228, 
230-235,  237,  238  ;  see  Vigny,  94, 
217,  222-224,  232,  235,  236;  see 
Dumas,  232,  236,  237  ;  comedy  of, 
239,  449  ;  see  Scribe,  239  ;  see 
Musset,  449  ;  history  of,  242-266, 
292,  293,  336  :  see  Thierry  for 
descriptive,  242-249  ;  see  Guizot 
for  philosophical,  250-253 ;  also 
Mignet,  253-256  ;  see  Thiers  for 
details,  257-260;  see  Michelet  for 
poetic,  260-266 ;  criticism  of, 
267-290  ;  see  Villemaii'.  for  histori- 
cal, 273-277  ;  see  Nizard  for  di- 
dactic, 277-281  ;  see  Sainte-Beuve 
for  literary,    28 1-290  ;    novel   of. 


Index. 


501 


Romanticism — Con, 

291-320  ;  see  Vigny  for  historical, 
294,  295  ;  also  Hugo,  295,  296  ; 
also  Dumas,  296,  297  ;  see  George 
Sand  for  idealistic,  297-306  ;  see 
Stendhal  for  psychological,  306- 
309  ;  also  IVIerimee,  309-311  ;  see 
Balzac  for  "  Comedie  humaine," 
311-320;  language  of,  128-138; 
versification  of,  1 39-141,  143- 
149  ;  see  Gautier,  Hugo,  Sainte- 
Beuve. 

Ronsard,  1-3,  5,  48,  125,  128,  133, 
138,  139,  365 

Rousseau,  Jean-Baptiste,  23,  50, 
15S  ;  influence, 

Rousseau,  Jean-Jacques,  23-34,  44. 
52,  54,  55.  1^\  86,  III,  118,  134, 
134,  280,  291  ;  initiator  of  Ro- 
manticism, 23,  25,  28,  31,  35,  52, 
III  ;  early  life,  24  ;  social  attitude, 
24,  25,  54;  message  to  re-enter 
self,  25,  26  ;  sensibility,  26,  27  ; 
source  of  his  weakness,  27,  28  ; 
revives  poetry  of  passion,  29,  30  ; 
poetry  of  nature,  29-31,  iii  ; 
love  of  domestic  life,  31,  32  ;  an- 
imates   parental     sentiment,    32, 

33  ;  inspires  spiritual  renaissance, 
27,  33.  34.  55  ;  style,  34,  76 ; 
la  N^ouvelle  Helo'ise,  29,  34,  291  ; 
le  Contrai  social,  54;   les  Reveries, 

34  ;  les  Confessions,  25,  31,  34  ; 
Entile,  54  ;  V hijluence  des  pas- 
sions stir  le  bonheur,  54 


Sainte-Beuve,  as  poet,  46,  128, 
148,  184-191,  339.  348,  366,  382  ; 
compared  to  Lamartine,  184  ;  to 
Vigny,  184;  to  Hugo,  184;  to 
Coppee,  382  ;  Pessimism  of 
yoseph  Delorme,  185  ;  character 
of  his  Muse,  185,  186  ;  reaction  in 
Consolations,  186,  187 ;  matured 
wisdom  of  Pensees  d'aoui,  186, 
187  ;  originality,  187,  188  ;  limi- 
tations, 18S,  189;  style,  189;  as 
critic-poet,  190  ;  as  moralist,  190, 
191  ;  yoseph  Delorme,  1S5-189, 
382  ;  Consolations,  1S6,  187  ; 
Pensees  d'aotit,  186,  188,  382  ; 
ATonsieiir  yean,  382  ;  as  critic, 
48,  76,  77,  93,  139,  151,  163,  167, 
172,  173,  235,  238,  281-290, 
308,  385-387,  417  ;  compared  with 


Nizard,  2S1  ;  method,  282,  284- 
288,  387  ;  as  poet-critic,  282,  283  ; 
as  moralist,  287  ;  as  artist,  2S7, 
288,  387  ;  as  physiologist,  284, 
385,  386  ;  adaptability,  288,  289  ; 
painter  of  portraits,  386  ;  Lun- 
dis,  190,  385 

Saint-Gelais,  128 

Saint-Hillaire,  Geoflroy,  317 

Saint-Lambert,  44 

Saint-Pierre,  Abbe  de,  241,  156,  291 

Saint-Pierre,  Bernardin  de,  34,  35, 
44,  76,  88,  III,  134,  156,  305  ;  dis- 
ciple of  Rousseau,  34  ;  painter  of 
nature,  35,  76,  305  ;  style,  34,  88, 
134  ;  originality  of  manner,  35, 
156  ;  Paul  et  Virgittie,  156 

Saint-Preux,  25,  28,  29,  156,  291 

Saint-Simon,  289 

Samson,  360 

Sand,  George,  36,  82,  297-306,  312, 
444  ;  lyrical,  297,  298  ;  early  life, 
298,  299  ;  first  manner,  299  ; 
second  manner,  299,  300 ;  third 
manner,  300,  301  ;  three  concep- 
tions of  love,  301,  302  ;  spon- 
taneity, 302,  303  ;  appearance  and 
bearing,  302,  303  ;  pastorals,  300, 
305,  306  ;  idealism,  302  ;  Realistic 
influence,  407  ;  Indiana,  299,  302, 
407  ;  yacques,  299  ;  Lelia,  299  ; 
Simon,  299  ;  Matiprat  299  ;  la 
Mare  att  Diable,  300  ;  Valentine, 
300  ;  le  Meunier  d^ Angibatdt,  300  ; 
yean  de  la  Roche,  407  ;  le  Mar- 
quis de  Villetner,  407 

Sardou,  473,  474  ;  disciple  of  Scribe, 

473  ;  characters  silhouettes,  473  ; 
lack  of  unity,  474  ;  rapidity  of 
movement,    474  ;  dramatic   style, 

474  ;  revives  vaudeville,  474  ; 
Patrie,  473 

Scherer,  Edmond,  381 

Schiller,  60,  115,  I17,  271 

Schlegel,  57 

Scott,  Walter,   115,   243,   248,   293; 

Ivanhoe,  244  ;  Quentin  Durward, 

295 
Scribe,   239,     452-454,    465,     473  ; 

comedy   of,    239  :     fertility,    239, 

455  ;  artificiality,  239 
Scudery,  86 
Sedaine,  43 

Senancour,  Oberman,  70-72,  108 
Seneca,  6 
Sesostris,  241 


502 


Index. 


Sevigne,  Madame  de,  13,  190 

Shakespeare,  90,  91,  115-117,  121, 
275  ;  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  Othello, 
go 

Sheridan,  275 

Sismondi,  57,   114 

Socialism,  in  Romanticism,  330  ;  in 
George  Sand,  299,  300,  305  ;  in 
Realism,  330 

Solon,  241 

Sonnet,  of  Sainte-Beuve,  190  ;  of 
Heredia,  362-364 

Sophocles,  43,  75,  77,  119,  275, 
358  ;  Aidipus  tyr annus,  75  ; 
Philoctetus,  275 

Sorel,  Julian,  307 

Soulie,  Frederic,  312 

Soumet,  92  ;  Jeanne  d'Arc,  Elisa- 
beth de  France,  92 

Spiritualism,  Romantic,  101-105, 
327-329  ;  introduced  by  Rousseau, 
27,  33-35  :  in  Saint-Pierre,  35  ;  in 
Madame  de  Stael,  55,  58,  59,  103  ; 
in  Chateaubriand,  72-74,  102- 
104  ;  in  Lamartine,  105,  160,  161  ; 
in  Victor  Hugo,  104,  182,  342  ; 
in  Vigny,  105,  i6g,  170  ;  decline 
in  Musset,  105,  195,  200  ;  also 
in  Gautier,  202 

Stael,  Madame  de,  36,  52-69, 
81,  99,   loi,   103,   106,    114,   116, 

269,  270,  273,  291,  321,  339,  385  ; 
as  leader  of  Romanticism,  56,  57, 
59-63,  65-67,  69,   99,    114,    269, 

270,  291,  385  ;  influence  of  Rous- 
seau, 54,  55  ;  of  Chateaubriand, 
58  ;  German  and  Italian  influences, 
57)  58  ;  Optimistic  philosophy, 
53.  55i  5*^ ;  Christianity,  56-60, 
103  ;  melancholy,  56,  63  ;  intro- 
duces Septentrional  spirit,  59,  60  ; 
favors  renaissance,  60  ;  inimical  to 
imitation,  61,  116  ;  introduces 
new  code  of  poetics,  61,  62  ;  ren- 
ovates criticism,  61,  66,  273,  385  ; 
liberates  art,  56,  57,  61,  62,  66  ; 
conception  of  nature,  63,  64  ; 
Allemagne,  59,  63,  65,  270 ;  la 
Litterature,  53,  f,5,  59,  61,  65, 
269,  270  ;  Lettres  sur  Jean- 
yacques,  54  ;  Corinne,  58,  2gi 

Stendhal,  36,  82,  100,  216,  289, 
306-311,  332,  335,  476;  as 
initiator  of  Realism,  306,  308, 
311,  332  ;  early  Romanticism,  306  ; 
scepticism  and  materialism,  307  ; 


style,  307  ;  psychologist  and  mor- 
alist, 307,  308  ;  lack  of  creative 
power,  308  ;  Racine  ct  Shake- 
speare, 216,  306 

Subjectivity  of  Romanticism,  105— 
107,  2gi,  292,  323-325  ;  intro- 
duced by  Rousseau,  25,  26,  291  ; 
in  Madame  de  Stael,  66,  106, 
291  ;  in  Chateaubriand,  70,  72, 
106,  291  ;  in  Lamartine,  106,  162, 
163  ;  in  Vigny,  106,  170,  235, 
236,  360  ;  in  Victor  Hugo,  106, 
175-178,  181,  233,  234  ;  in  Mus- 
set, 106,  107,  197,  19S  ;  in  Gau- 
tier, 204 ;  in  Leconte  de  Lisle, 
360;  in  Sully  Prudhomme,  371  ; 
in  Michelet,  263-265  ;  in  George 
Sand,  297,  29S  ;  in  Balzac,  411  ; 
in  Daudet,  440 

Sue,  Eugene,  312 

Suetonius,  247 

Swedenborg,  312 

Symbolism  of  Vigny,  170,  360 ;  of 
Victor  Hugj,  344  ;  of  Leconte  de 
Lisle,  359,  360 ;  of  Zola,  433- 
434  ;  of  Dumas,  463 

Symbolists,  208,  344 


T 


Tacitus,  7 

Taine,  284,  308,  385,  387-30.  4i4  ; 
criticism  a  positive  science,  387  ; 
not  considered  as  works  of  art 
but  for  historic  facts,  387-389  ; 
influences  of  race,  place,  and 
time,  390-392  ;  man  not  free, 
393.  394  i  does  not  apply  analysis, 
3g4,  395  ;  style,  395,  396 

Talleyrand,  25S 

Tasso,  169 

Terror,  55 

Theatre  of  Realism,  448-474  ;  con- 
sidered as  comedy  of  manners, 
239,  44S-474,  476,  478  ;  see  Bal- 
zac, 450,  451  ;  see  Dumas  fils, 
451-464  ;  see  Augier,  464-473  ; 
as    vaudeville,    see    Sardou,    473, 

474 
Theocritus,  47 
Theophrastus,  7 
Thierry,    Augustin,    78,     83,     242- 

249,  250,  293,   336  ;    influence  of 

Chateaubriand,  78,  83,   243,   244  ; 

of     Walter     Scott,      243,      244 ; 

most  Romantic  of  historians,  242, 


Index. 


503 


Thierr}-,  Augustin — Con. 

243,  336 ;  renovates  historical 
studies,  244,  250 ;  method  of 
Letires  sur   Vhisioire   de  France, 

244,  245  ;  of  la  Conqticte  d'Attgle- 
ierre,  245  ;  of  les  Recits  me'fo- 
vingiens,  245,  246  ;  imagination 
and  sensibility,  246,  247  ;  history 
work  of  art  and  science,  247  ;  h-s 
Recits  merovingiens ,  244-246, 
293  ;  la  Conquete  de  f  Angleterre, 
244,  245  ;  Letires  sur  I'kistoire  de 
France,  244,  245 

Thiers,  257-260  ;  reproduces  details, 
257  ;  values  insight,  257,  258  ; 
moral  neutrality,  259  ;  style,  259, 
260 

Tibullus,  45 

Tours,  Gregory  de,  245 

Tracy,  Destutt  de,  307 

Tragedy,  of  Classicism,  20,  214,  217- 
219,  223,  224,  227  ;  see  Corneille, 
5,  6,  II,  16,  18,  217  ;  see  Racine, 
4,  7,  ir,  13,  16,  43,  57,  217,  223- 
225  ;  antiquity  in,  6-9,  18, 
220 ;  universal  hero  of,  10, 
II  ;  types  of,  18,  218-220,  222, 
227  ;  unities  of,  216,  220-222, 
227  ;  tirades  of,  21S,  223,  226  ; 
separates  tragic  and  comic,  217, 
218  ;  truth  of,  224,  227  ;  style  of, 
10,  225,  226  ;  Bourgeois  Tragedy 
of  precursors  of  igth  century, 
see  Diderot,  37-41  ;  see  Mercier, 
41-44  ;  of  pseudo-Classicism,  88- 
94  ;  preserves  tirades  and  unities, 
89,  90,  92  ;  Ducis  adapts  Shake- 
spearean drama,  90,  91  ;  innova- 
tions made  by  Lemercier,  91,  93, 
94  ;  regenerated  under  Restora- 
tion, 92  ;  novelty  introduced  by 
Lebrun,  92,  93  ;  revived  by  Pon- 
sard,  238,  239 

Tragi-comedy,  38,  217 


Vaugelas,  126,  I2g,  130 

Velly,  242 

Versification,  of  Ronsard  and  the 
Pleiade,  48,  138,  139,  141,  142  ; 
of  Classicism,  138-144  ;  see  Mal- 
herbe,  13S,  142,  146-148,  362  ; 
see  Boileau,  142,  146-148  ;  see 
Racine,  142-144 ;  of  Romanti- 
cism,     139-143,      145-149  ;     see 


Andre  Chenier,  47,  48,  144,  165  ; 
see  Beranger,  150,  15 1  ;  see  La- 
martine,  164,  210  ;  sec  Vigny,  165  ; 
see  Musset,  193,  210;  see  Brizeux, 
211,  212  ;  see  Victor  Hugo,  139, 
141,  148,  149,  176,  179,  180;  see 
Sainte-Beuve,  148,  149,  189,  190 ; 
see  Gautier,  14S,  149,  209,  210; 
of  Realism,  334  ;  see  Parnassians, 
364,  368,  369  ;  see  Leconte  de 
Lisle,  362  ;  see  Heredia,  362,  363  ; 
see  Sully  Prudhomme,  372,  373  ; 
see  Coppee,  378,  379 
Vicar  of  Savoy,  33,  55,  155 
Vigny,  Alfred  de,  as  poet,  46,  48, 
81,  94,  105,  106,  109,  120,  150, 
165-173,  179,  184,  332,  339,  360, 
376 ;  influence  of  Chenier,  46, 
165;  originality,  I17,  165,  166; 
idealism,  166  ;  deceptions,  167  ; 
fatalism,  168  ;  art  sole  principle 
of  action,  168  ;  seeks  consolation 
in  Genius  and  Glory,  168,  169  ; 
accuses  Nature,  Man,  and  God, 
169,  170  ;  resignation  and  pessim- 
ism, 109,  168-170,  184,  236,  336, 
339  ;  employs  evasions,  170,  360, 
376;  obscurities,  171,  172;  as 
philosopher,  172  ;  as  artist,  172, 
173  ;  as  historian,  106,  294,  295, 
360  ;  purity,  173  ;  impressionabil- 
ity, i6g,  179 ;  /<?  Dryade  and 
Sym^tha,  120,  165  ;  Mo'ise  and 
le  Cor,  165  ;    Samson,  167  ;    Floa, 

165,  166,  ^71,  173  ;  Dolorida  and 
la  N'eige,  166  ;  la  Femme  ad  niter  e 
and  la  Fille  de  Jephte',  166,  173  ; 
le  Deluge,  le  Somnambule ,  les 
Amants  de  Montmorency,  le 
Masque  de  Fer,  and  la  Fhlte,  171  ; 
as    dramatist,   94,   1 16,   1 17,    137, 

166,  217,  222-224,  232,  233,  235, 
326,  294,  332  ;  his  poetics,  217, 
223,  224  ;  compared  with  Victor 
Hugo,  235  ;  Chatterton  his  only 
success,  235  ;  a  picture  of  himself, 
106,  236;  favors  "drama  of 
thought,"  236;  Othello,  94,  116, 
166,  217  ;  Chatterton,  116,  235, 
236,  332  ;  la  Mare'chale  d  Ancre, 
232,  236  ;  comedy,  Qititte  pour  la 

peur  236  ;    as  novelist,  294,  295  ; 
perverts  history,  204,  295  ;  charac- 
ters typical,  295  ;  Cinq-Mars,  166, 
294.  295 
Villemain,  157,  190,  272-277  ;  leader 


504 


Index. 


Villemain — Con. 

of  new  movement,  272,  273  \  criti- 
cism history  of  human  mind,  273  ; 
method,  273,  274,  277  ;  ancient 
and  modern  literatures,  274-276  ; 
charm  of  style,  276  ;  scruples  in 
ideas  and  forms,  276,  277 

Vinet,  289 

Virgil,  6,  83,  107,  117 

Virieu,  155 

Voltaire,  18,  23,  29,  33,  60,  74,  85, 
86,  lOi,  105,  127,  129,  136,  242, 
249,  274,  275  ;  M^rope,  23  ;  U 
Pauvre  Diable,  136  ;  la  Henriade 
and  (Edipe,  274 


W 


Wordsworth,  190 


Zola,  432-439,  440,  444  ;  as  legis- 
lator of  Naturalism,  432  ;  method 
opposed  to  Naturalism,  432-436  ; 
his  Romanticism,  433,  436  ;  char- 
acters typical,  433  ;  novels  sym- 
bolical, 434  ;  method  of  incorpo- 
rating materials,  434,  435  ;  truth 
of  his  physiological  novel,  435, 
436;  psychologist  of  the  "bete 
humaine,"  436,  437  ;  materialism, 

436,  437  ;  poetry  of  his  fatalism, 

437.  438  ;  style,  438,  439  ;  imper- 
sonality compared  with  Daudet, 
439,  440  ;  Rougon-Macquart,  434- 
436,  439  ;  Gertninal,  434;  l' CEu- 
vre,  434  ;  la  Terre,  434  ;  Thdrhe 
Raquin,  436 


WORKS  IN  LITERATURE. 


THE  LITERARY  MOVEMENT  IN  FRANCE    DURING 
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A  HISTORY  OF  AMERICAN 
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and  judicial  method.  In  the  present  work,  for  the  first  time  in  a  systematic 
and  complete  way,  is  set  forth  the  inward  history  of  our  Revolution, — the  history 
of  its  ideas,  its  spiritual  moods,  its  passions,  as  these  uttered  themselves  at  the 
time  in  the  writings  of  the  two  parties  of  Americans  who  either  promoted  or 
resisted  that  great  movement. 

THREE  MEN  OF  LETTERS 

Chapters  in  Literary  Biography  and  Criticism  devoted  to 

George  Berkeley,  Timothy  Dwight,  and  Joel  Barlow. 

12°,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

"  Though  more  lengthy  than  most  of  the  sketches  in  Professor  Tyler's  well- 
known  '  History,'  these  monographs  have  much  of  the  brevity  of  their  original 
purpose  ;  and  they  are  marked  by  the  same  picturesqueness  of  treatment,  the 
same  vivacity  of  expression,  and  the  same  felicity  of  statement,  that  characterize 
the  author's  larger  volumes." — The  Nation. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  New  York  and  London 


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